American History Tellers - J. Edgar Hoover's FBI - Giant Among G-Men | 2

Episode Date: April 17, 2019

J. Edgar Hoover became director of the FBI when he was just 29 years old. His orders? Clean up the Bureau. At first, he proved to be a brilliant and innovative leader, setting new standards for education, physical fitness, and training of federal agents.But there was a dark side to his success. Hoover was also obsessed with tracking anyone he considered to be disloyal to the U.S. government. By the early 1930s, the Bureau was secretly compiling dossiers on tens of thousands of American citizens, in defiance of government orders. And Hoover understood that the best cover for his actions lay in bolstering the Bureau’s reputation as a beloved and virtuous American institution. All he needed was the help of an expert in an emerging but promising field: public relations.Support us by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine it's October 7th, 1935. You are a producer for Universal Pictures, but you're not on set in Hollywood. You're in the office of FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover, shooting a scene for a short film called You Can't Get Away With It. The film will tell the story of the FBI, a topic of widespread interest since President Franklin Delano Roosevelt's

recent declaration of the war on crime. The crew is propping up a large Kodak 35mm camera in front of Mr. Hoover's huge desk. The desk is slightly higher than a normal desk, set up on a 6-inch platform in front of double doors that open into Hoover's private office. On the wall in the room beyond, you see a large mounted swordfish that will dominate the background of the shot. Hoover's top public relations aide approaches you. Good morning. I'm Lou Nichols, public relations chief for the Bureau. Good to meet you in person, Mr. Nichols. Charles Ford. Mr. Ford, Director Hoover will be here in five minutes. He has the script, and we expect this to be taken care of quickly. He is a busy man. Yeah, our writers have made a few changes to the script, though. I'm afraid that won't work.

Mr. Hoover has approved the script we wrote. Well, they're not major changes, I'm sure. We want Mr. Hoover to appear in the best light possible. No one understands how he should appear to the American people better than Mr. Hoover. We would be going with the script that was approved. Now, let's get started. You sigh and step aside. You're used to managing difficult talent on set.

Usually, as the director, you get the final say. But apparently not when your star is the head of the FBI. The door to the hallway opens and Hoover enters the room, trailed by two young agents carrying paperwork. He's younger than you expected. Perhaps 40. He's also shorter than you thought. Perhaps that explains the odd raised desk.

Good morning, gentlemen. Are we ready to go? Hoover sits behind the desk and shuffles the pages of his script. He carefully adjusts the knickknacks on his desk, slides a cactus plant a few inches over, and turns a vase of fresh flowers slightly. He is dressed in a stylish gray suit, striped tie, with a perfectly folded pocket square. He wears a signet ring on his left ring finger and a very modern slim watch with an unusual metal band. You slip behind the camera. Mr. Hoover, we will film the monologue in three takes, each with a slightly different camera setup. Hoover nods and you wait to see if he has any questions. Okay, I'm ready. Hoover folds his arms, places his left hand over his right,

and when you call action, recites his lines crisply. He has memorized the script. His performance is flawless on every take. There is nothing mysterious about the manner in which the Federal Bureau of Investigation works. Its formula is a simple one. Intensive training, carefully investigated, and highly efficient personnel, plus rigid requirements in regard to conduct, intelligence, and integrity. A special agent must be a good marksman and have the courage to shoot it out with the most venomous of public

enemies. He must know how to take fingerprints and what to do with them afterwards. He must know that no clue, no matter how seemingly unimportant, can be overlooked. He must have constantly before him the fact that science is a bulwark of criminal investigation. And he must realize that no case ever ends for the Federal Bureau of Investigation until it is solved and closed with the conviction of the guilty or the acquittal of the innocent. As you watch Hoover from behind the camera, though, you're unsettled. Everything the director is saying sounds impressive, admirable even. But this is no documentary, no newsreel. Everything is managed, finely tuned to manipulate.

Something about his calm, steady gaze and fastidious habits set your teeth on edge. And you can't shake the suspicion that, by helping bring his carefully crafted message to the American people, you've your podcasts. You can listen to Kill List and more Exhibit C True Crime shows like Morbid early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story. The film You Can't Get Away With It was seen by millions of American moviegoers. It was a public relations coup for Hoover and the FBI. Lou Nichols, Clyde Tolson, and the rest of Hoover's public relations staff

deliberately shaped the story it told. One of scientific advances in the FBI laboratory, meticulous investigation, and avoidance of any rush to judgment. And Hoover as America's top cop. Starting in the mid-1930s, this kind of heroic media coverage became part of the Bureau's arsenal against crime. It launched Hoover into the public spotlight and enabled his secret and often illegal spying on innocent Americans. This is the second episode in our six-part series on J. Edgar Hoover's FBI, Giant Among G-Men. Twelve years before You Can't Get Away With It premiered in theaters,

J. Edgar Hoover became the director of the FBI. His orders were to clean up the scandal and corruption-tarnished Bureau. But Hoover had actually played a key role in tarnishing the Bureau's image in the first place. He organized and led the Palmer Raids, which Congress called Lawless Acts. Despite that, he was selected as director of the Bureau in 1924 when he was just 29 years old. And immediately, he started to make major changes. He fired political cronies and action hero wannabe agents. He created strict standards for new agents,

outlining everything from education requirements to appearance to physical fitness. He wanted smart agents, too, so he hired accountants and attorneys. But he also wanted them well-trained in law enforcement, so he established an FBI academy to provide every agent with state-of-the-art police training. A brilliant bureaucrat and organizer, Hoover was also innovative. He made the Bureau one of the first American law enforcement organizations to embrace fingerprinting, establishing a massive fingerprint system in the old Washington, D.C. armory

to collect and categorize millions of fingerprints. The FBI pioneered the use of other science in law enforcement. Its crime lab accomplished wonders like reading invisible ink, identifying who wrote a letter by tracing typewriters, and matching bullets to guns through the science of ballistics. All told, J. Edgar Hoover was an effective director of the Bureau during his first 10 years. But there was a dark side to his success. After the public outcry that followed the Palmer raids,

Hoover promised his bosses he would stop illegally collecting information on Americans he suspected to be disloyal to the government. But secretly, he continued his spying. By the early 1930s, the Bureau had compiled dossiers on tens of thousands of Americans who had not committed any crimes. They simply disagreed with the U.S. government.

But all of Hoover's work to transform the agency was done behind the scenes. By 1933, the Bureau remained invisible to most Americans. It was inconceivable then that Hoover, the FBI, and the G-Men were about to become household names. Franklin Delano Roosevelt opened the door. When FDR took office in 1933, the Great Depression had destroyed the lives of tens of millions of Americans. In addition to creating jobs, FDR's New Deal programs also addressed a perceived crime wave that accompanied the economic crisis. When the President and Attorney General Homer S. Cummings declared their War on Crime in 1933, Hoover saw the opportunity to advance his ambitious agenda for the FBI and himself.

In reality, crime had not increased. But its visibility had, thanks to some high-profile outlaws in the Midwest. In response, FDR and Attorney General Cummings pushed sweeping changes through Congress that included a vast expansion of FBI jurisdiction. Now, for the first time, FBI agents could carry guns and make arrests. They could investigate bank robberies and kidnappings, could conduct searches for federal fugitives. Money followed that expanded jurisdiction, and the FBI grew dramatically during the 30s, from just a few dozen to more than 800 special agents.

Still, it wasn't enough for Hoover. He craved the power to pursue criminals and police dissent in America. So while FDR tapped Attorney General Homer S. Cummings as the face of the war on crime, Hoover had other plans. Imagine it's a muggy summer night, July 22nd, 1934. You and a friend just saw a movie called Manhattan Melodrama, starring Clark Gable, William Powell, and Myrna Loy at the Biograph Theater in Chicago. In the movie, two boys grow up together in an orphanage, only to take different paths as adults.

Gable's character becomes the gangster owner of an illegal casino. William Powell's character grows up to be a district attorney, putting their lives on a collision course. Of course, they both fall in love with Myrna Loy, setting up a conflict over life and love. As the credits roll, you stand and stretch. Well, what'd you think? Not great, huh? Nah, predictable. But at least we got out of the heat for a while. Well, yes, that was worth 20 cents. The movie sure wasn't. As you exit the theater, the warm, humid air outside is waiting. Also confronting you is a man in a stylish hat,

moving against the crowd, blocking the stream of patrons. Excuse me, sir. People are trying to get by here. He ignores you and you feel a wave of annoyance. You're about to say something when your friend takes you by the arm. Come on, no need to mess with him. Some people just don't have manners. The two of you narrow your eyes at the man in the hat, but then follow the throng of people shuffling down the sidewalk, past the country club liquor store and toward an alley. Suddenly, you hear shouting behind you. Stop! I said stop! You turn and see a man running toward you, headed for the alley.

Behind him are three men in suits, handguns drawn. You shove your friend against the building. Get down! What was that? No idea. You move cautiously toward the alley. There on the ground, right in front of you, is the man, lying face down. He made it just inside the alley before a bullet to the back of his head struck him down. Blood pools at your feet. Two bystanders, women, were also wounded, though it doesn't look like it's serious. Your friend sucks in his breath. I can't

believe it. What? Your friend pulls out a handkerchief, leans over, and dips it in the pool of blood on the pavement. What in the world are you doing? It's John Dillinger. Dillinger? Yeah, I recognize him from the newspaper. I bet those guys are from the FBI. He folds up the handkerchief and tucks it into his pocket. A little memento of public enemy number one right there. You're shocked. Then a woman next to you pulls out her handkerchief too. Another man does the same. The most wanted man in is dead on the pavement at your feet. John Dillinger was a violent criminal. In 1933 and 1934, he and his gang robbed 24 Midwestern banks and also stole guns and ammunition from four police stations. A police officer was murdered during one of those heists.

Newspapers and radio had picked up the Dillinger story in 1933. Many of the bank robberies included so-called Robin Hood moments, where Dillinger destroyed mortgage or other loan records, attempting to free ordinary people from financial burden. Those acts, along with the fact that Dillinger was a dashing young man, made the murderous outlaw something of a celebrity. 1933 was also the darkest year of the Great Depression. Banks failed. Unemployment surged. Dust covered the farmlands of the Midwest.

The public, conditioned to darkness and hopelessness, was hungry for action hero stories like those provided by high-profile outlaws. There was Lester Gillis, better known as Babyface Nelson, who partnered with Dillinger at times and also led his own gang of kidnappers and bank robbers. Nelson was killed by FBI agents in late 1934. Kidnapper George Machine Gun Kelly was imprisoned in 1933. Alvin Creepy Karpus led the Karpus Barker gang of kidnappers and bank robbers. Karpus was arrested by Hoover himself in 1936. But while Dillinger became a kind of

hero of the people, to the FBI he was public enemy number one. Dillinger proved difficult to bring to justice. He was captured once but escaped from a local jail in Indiana by fashioning a fake gun from a bar of soap and some shoe polish. Then in April 1934, he and his gang were cornered by the FBI in a lodge in rural Wisconsin, but escaped again. The FBI failed to close off a back exit, and an FBI agent was killed. The Bureau was widely reported to have botched what should have been a certain arrest. When the Bureau finally caught up to Dillinger in Chicago, it could have been a great moment of redemption for Hoover and the FBI. But Hoover's overhaul of the Bureau had not yet included a public relations team.

So instead of lauding the Bureau's impressive detective work, media coverage of the Dillinger shooting highlighted a single FBI agent as a lone action hero. Chicago's special agent in charge, Melvin Purvis, the man in the stylish hat, was credited for the shooting in news reports, along with Attorney General Cummings. There was nothing printed about Hoover. Purvis was brought to Washington to meet with President Roosevelt. Eventually, his face made it onto cereal boxes. Hoover, though, was relegated to the sidelines. Not that he would have wanted to share the spotlight with Purvis. Hoover was a vain man who wanted desperately to be America's top cop. For Hoover, it was obvious that to get there, he needed to control the story.

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After the Dillinger shooting, Hoover set out to create a new picture of the FBI, one that centered on his achievements. He did this by building a public relations office inside the bureau. It was called the Crime Records Section. The agents who worked there had English or journalism degrees. Some of them had worked for newspapers. Others distinguished themselves as good writers and editors in their other work for the FBI. To lead them, Hoover chose his closest aide,

associate director Clyde Tolson and former YMCA publicist Lou Nichols. Public relations was in its infancy in the mid-1930s. New York theater promoter Edward Bernays, considered the father of public relations, first coined the term only a decade earlier, and government public relations was essentially non-existent. FDR had only just begun his famous fireside chats. But Nichols was a public relations pioneer. The former YMCA publicity agent was an unlikely Hoover confidant. Hoover dressed stylishly and meticulously. His desk was carefully arranged, and he valued order and organization. Nichols, on the other hand, was the human equivalent of an unmade bed.

His desk was a mess, with ashtrays and cigarette butts buried under piles of disordered paperwork. Memoranda from Hoover often sat unread for days, a cardinal sin in the FBI. He was also portly and wore ill-fitting suits, the physical opposite of the athletic agents Hoover favored. But Nichols had a superpower. Networking. He could talk to anyone, anywhere, at any time. He ate lunch with a different group of reporters every day. He was rarely seen without a phone perched on his shoulder, either praising or berating a reporter,

editor, or publisher. He could captivate reporters with spellbinding tales, essentially writing their stories for them. He could also dismantle a reporter's work in granular detail, delivered in between vile profanity. A gregarious man with total devotion to Hoover, Nichols learned to use his power as the FBI's communications chief to control what the public heard and saw about the agency. He opened up the Bureau to reporters, producers, and editors, so long as they were willing to accept some conditions. The Bureau would have total control over the resulting stories, including the right to edit them prior to publication or broadcast. Any hint of criticism of Hoover or the FBI would result in placement on a do-not-contact list. Nichols essentially turned reporters into stenographers who ceded control of news columns and broadcast airtime to the government,

refused to agree to the FBI's conditions, and reporters were simply frozen out. Accepting these kind of conditions would be a violation of the fundamental ethics of journalism, but there were plenty of reporters, editors, and producers willing to make the deal. The public was clamoring for stories of famous outlaws, and access to the FBI offered the press a chance to cash in. The most helpful reporters even

received a title inside the FBI. They were referred to as special service contacts. That meant that they were not just willing to work with the FBI on stories, they also agreed to investigate people and feed the information back to the FBI as quasi-agents. The result of this relationship with the press was an avalanche of radio programs, newspaper stories, motion pictures, books, magazines, articles, even comic books telling heroic versions of the FBI's stories. Overnight, the FBI went from a virtually unknown agency to a pillar of government. Hoover went from being confused with former President Hoover to being as famous as FDR. The FBI legend began to grow quickly, and Hoover never passed on an opportunity to tell

an audience about his department's accomplishments. Every kidnapping case brought to our attention has been solved. Bank robberies have been cut in half. Extortionists have been consistently apprehended, and other forms of federal offenses have been vigorously prosecuted. Imagine it's January 15th, 1935. You're a special agent of the FBI in an Ocklawaha, Florida. The sun is just starting to rise. You and your partner are crouching behind a tree. Just out of sight, more than a dozen other agents are hiding as well.

It's 7 a.m. now, but you've been hiding since well before dawn, all of you waiting for a sign of movement from the house up ahead. It's a two-story white clapboard with green trim, flanked by thin orange trees on both sides. All is quiet except for the screaming of locusts and the lapping of water on the shore of Lake Weir. Your partner leans into you. Any sign of them? Nothing. Hold up inside is Ma Barker, the infamous matriarch of the Barker-Karpus gang, and her son Fred. All of the other members of the gang have been arrested or killed, but of the other members of the gang have

been arrested or killed, but Director Hoover says Ma is the most vicious, dangerous, and resourceful of them all. She's masterminded more than a dozen bank robberies. Her gang of sons killed at least 10 people, several of them police officers. But now it looks like she's just about reached the end of her rope. But that's all the more reason not to underestimate her. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you see movement from the agent closest to the house. Agent Earl Connolly, in charge of the operation, moves out into the open. Fred Barker. Ma Barker. My name is Agent Connolly with the Department of Justice. Why don't you come on out so we can talk? There's still no movement at the house. Your partner shifts to get a better look.

What's going on over there? I don't know. But remember what Connolly said. Stay down until he gives the signal. Connolly takes another step towards the house. I know you're in there. Why don't you come on outside so we can talk? But still nothing.

We have the house surrounded. Then a curtain rustles. You whisper to your partner. Draw your gun, agent. Just saw movement in the house. Where? Upstairs window, north bedroom. Conley's still out front, standing firm, but he's working his fingers nervously. This is the end of the line for you, Barkers. I'll give you five minutes. If you don't come out with your hands to heaven, we're going to have to come in and get you. Connolly whistles, a signal to the other agents. From behind the trees, two agents fire tear gas canisters toward the house. Then, from inside the house, a woman's voice calls out,

All right, go ahead. It's Ma Barker, but what does she mean? Connolly's getting impatient. That's it Barker, but what does she mean? Conley's getting impatient. That's it. We're coming in. He takes two steps towards the house, and then gunfire erupts from the second story. Conley dives for cover. You and your partner and 13 other agents open fire on the house.

You rain bullets on the Barkers, draining one clip after another. When you finally run out of ammo, three hours later, the air is so thick with smoke you can barely see the house. Conley and a half-dozen agents head in. You wait outside, straining to hear what's going on, but all is silent. Conley's back a few minutes later. We found them in the second floor bedroom. They've been dead for a couple of hours. He shakes out a handkerchief and mops his face. Good work, gentlemen.

The Barker killings culminated a 12-month publicity campaign focused on Hoover's agency that started with the Dillinger shooting. At the beginning of that PR blitz, Agent Melvin Purvis, the man who'd killed Dillinger, was the face of the FBI. But just a year later, he was largely erased from Bureau history, and Hoover had become the sole focus of FBI media coverage. Nichols, Tolson, and the crime records section had done their job. Coverage of the Barker shootings in Florida, for example, focused on the FBI as a team and on Hoover as its sole leader. After the shooting, Hoover took the opportunity to claim Ma Barker was the mastermind of the Karpis gang. Ma Barker was a she-wolf, a veritable beast of prey, encouraging her sons to loot and kill. She helped plan the crimes and sat back and waited for the gang to make it happen.

Hoover had built the machine to cultivate a heroic public image, splashed on front pages and amplified on the radio. This new image gave him cover to focus on what had been his primary objective all along, a campaign of secret spying on dissenting Americans. From his first job in government, working for the Alien Enemies Bureau in World War I, to leading the General Intelligence Division and the Palmer Raids, Hoover's suspicion of Americans on the political left never wavered. The General Intelligence Division had been disbanded after the 1920 Palmer Raids, when FBI agents acting under Hoover's orders illegally spied on and arrested innocent Americans.

But Hoover had never really shut it down. He simply retired the name and kept on spying. And he did so in part with the support of the president. In 1934, just months before the Barker raid, FDR had secretly authorized Hoover to resume domestic spying against alleged Nazis. This emboldened Hoover. He interpreted the presidential orders broadly as validation of the Bureau's ongoing work to investigate all alleged radicals and dissenters. In practice, this meant that agents in the Bureau's 52 offices nationwide continued to gather and submit information on suspected radicals. They obtained

names from informants. They cataloged publications people received. They clipped newspaper articles where people criticized the government. They opened mail. They placed wiretaps on phones. They built a long list called the Custodial Detention Index of Dissenters in America. Those Americans considered the most dangerous were included on a list of people to be arrested and jailed without charges in case of a national emergency. The FBI kept tabs on organized labor, newspapers, universities, and other organizations Hoover perceived as possibly housing communists. And in 1936, during the first Red Scare, FDR expanded his spying authorization to include alleged communists, giving Hoover the president's blessing for his activities.

Once again, Hoover's interpretation of that permission went far beyond its limited scope. In 1938, Hoover authored a memo to his staff asserting that the FBI could investigate anyone it suspected was a potential subversive, a vague category that could include almost anyone. The breathtaking scope of that memorandum and the power it placed at Hoover's discretion should have raised alarm bells. But for FDR, wary of political fallout, secretly approved Hoover's interpretation. Hoover privately cited Roosevelt's authorization to Congress and others as his justification for an ever-expanding program of spying on Americans. Hoover understood why the Bureau's spying needed to remain a secret, though.

He had watched as others were run out of government by scandal and corruption. But rather than give up the secret surveillance, Hoover doubled down on his media campaign to pump up the importance of the Bureau. He would make the FBI beloved, a virtuous and brave agency fighting for America. And that image would shield him against critics

who feared the FBI and Hoover's power. Richard Bandler revolutionized the world of self-help all thanks to an approach he developed called neurolinguistic programming. Even though NLP worked for some, its methods have been criticized for being dangerous in the wrong hands. Throw in Richard's dark past as a cocaine addict and murder suspect, and you can't help but wonder what his true intentions were. I'm Sachi Cole. And I'm Sarah Hagee. And we're the hosts of Scamfluencers, a weekly podcast from Wondery that takes you along the twists and turns of the most infamous scams of all time,

the impact on victims, and what's left once the facade falls away. We recently dove into the story of the godfather of modern mental manipulation, Richard Bandler, whose methods inspired some of the most toxic and criminal self-help movements of the last two decades. Follow Scamfluencers on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Scamfluencers and more Exhibit C true crime shows like Morbid and Kill List early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus. Check out Exhibit C in the Wondery app for all your true crime listening.

Dracula, the ancient vampire who terrorizes Victorian London. Blood and garlic, bats and crucifixes. Even if you haven't read the book, you think you know the story. One of the incredible things about Dracula is that not only is it this wonderful snapshot of the 19th century, but it also has so much resonance today. The vampire doesn't cast a reflection in a mirror. So when we look in the mirror, the only thing we see is our own monstrous abilities. From the host and producer of American History Tellers and History Daily comes the new podcast, The Real History of Dracula.

We'll reveal how author Bram Stoker raided ancient folklore, exploited Victorian fears around sex, science, and religion, and how even today we remain enthralled to his strange creatures of the night. You can binge all episodes of The Real History of Dracula exclusively with Wondery Plus. Join Wondery Plus and The Wondery App, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. Imagine it's 5 a.m. on February 3rd, 1940. You're lying in bed, mentally preparing for another day at the hospital. You're a doctor and have a full slate of patients to see today. The streets outside your

fifth floor apartment are quiet. It's that calm period before Detroit comes to life, your favorite part of the day. You're making mental notes on the day to come when the phone rings. Hello? Yes, is this Dr. Schafferman? Yes, who's this? A neighbor gave me your number. There's a person outside who's badly hurt. Can you come down and help? What happened? Please, come down and help.

Certainly, I'll be right down. You quickly get dressed, grab your medical bag, and hurry down the five floors to the front door. Exiting, you look for a commotion, someone in need of help. But you see nothing. Then, from behind, someone grabs you. You struggle and are thrown to the ground. A knee is in your back.

Your nose is bleeding. FBI, you're under arrest. Your head is ground into the pavement. The agent cuffs you, pulls you roughly to your feet. This is an outrage. I want to speak to my lawyer. But the agent doesn't answer. He shoves you into the backseat of an unmarked car.

And you're not alone. There are two other men already in the backseat. You know them both. And suddenly, everything becomes clear. Dr. Schafferman, so they got to you too. I thought all this was behind us. The Civil War ended last year. Franco won. It doesn't matter what happens in Spain.

They're worried about us stirring trouble here. All we did was hand out some pamphlets. Do pamphlets justify this? I'm bleeding. Yeah, they broke down my door. They made my wife dress while I stood right there. Did they show you a warrant? Did Franco use warrants?

Your outrage is growing by the minute. You worked to recruit Americans for the Spanish rebels' cause because you believed in their struggle against authoritarianism. You never imagined that by staying on American soil, you'd still be risking arrest, or that the force capturing you would be your own government. The media condemned the raids. The New Republic magazine wrote, In foreign countries, people are forced by their governments to submit to their Gestapos. In this country, Hoover has the voluntary support of all who delight in gangster movies and Tencent detective magazines.

The St. Louis Post-Dispatch complained that something fishy was going on. If Hoover really is bent on building up an American secret police, then it is high time to call a halt. Congress should brush aside the old argument that police activities must necessarily be secret and turn an investigative searchlight on the FBI and its publicity-mad chief. But Nichols and the FBI PR staff pushed back, leveraging relationships with friendly reporters to counter the criticism. They arranged for Hoover to do an interview with the New York Times, but the Times submitted the questions to Nichols in advance, and Nichols wrote Hoover's responses. The interview was published under the headline, OGPU Unthinkable Here, says Hoover, referring to the Soviet Union's OGPU secret police.

A line attributed to Hoover read, in the first place, such an organization would be contrary to the principles of states' rights guaranteed under the Constitution. Then, too, to centralize in one place law enforcement administration for the nation would weaken and devitalize local administration of justice. Hoover was restating the two main public relations problems faced by the FBI. America's fear of a federal police force and their concern that the Bureau would intrude in local matters. But then he just dismissed them out of hand. It couldn't happen here.

Thanks to the work of his public relations staff, Hoover wasn't worried about the storm of negative publicity. He simply placed dissenting reporters and editors on his Do Not Contact list and moved forward. He also called upon one of his most influential supporters in the media, radio commentary Fulton Lewis Jr. On March 7, 1940, Nichols met with Lewis for lunch. That same evening, Lewis opened his popular nationally syndicated radio program with a full throated defense of Hoover. Just to keep the record straight, I don't believe a single word of it because it isn't true. It so happens that Mr. J. Edgar Hoover is quite unpopular with certain

reporters and correspondents and columnists. I don't mean to indulge in any defense of Mr. Hoover. It's not my job to defend him. I'm merely trying to pass along the facts as I find them to be on very careful investigation. A week later, Lewis again defended Hoover to his massive audience. To be entirely candid, I am somewhat shocked at the apparent campaign among a few newspaper men in Washington to build a fire under Mr. Hoover. Even William Randolph Hearst, owner of dozens of influential daily newspapers and radio stations and perhaps the ultimate media defender, stepped in to defend Hoover. Should it not be natural for all honest people to flock to Hoover's support and rout the criminals and rascally red

radicals who are lending their discreditable support to the attempted smear? Hoover's friends in the media drowned out legitimate criticisms by claiming there was an attempted smear. Hoover's friends in the media drowned out legitimate criticisms by claiming there was an organized smear campaign against the FBI. Hoover and his public relations team used the opportunity to whip up a frenzy of publicity declaring the FBI as the victims. Never mind the violence of the 5 a.m. arrests in Detroit or revelations of the Bureau's ongoing use of illegal wiretaps. The FBI, according to Bureau of Public Relations, was under attack by communists and what Hoover called pseudo-liberals. The rebel-rousing communists, the goose-stepping bunsmen,

their stooges and seemingly innocent fronts, and last but by no means least, the pseudo-liberals, adhere to the doctrine of falsification and of distortion. They seek to weaken law enforcement in every conceivable manner as their first step toward turning law and order into revolution and into chaos. Over the course of just a few years, Hoover established a public relations message and cadre of defenders in the news media that helped secure his authority to spy on any American at any time.

It was just the beginning of a media strategy that would soon evolve from hiding certain facts about the Bureau to creating its own version of the truth. I have some exciting news. American History Tellers has been nominated for a Webby. We need your help to win. We've made it easy for you to cast your vote. Just go to wondery.fm slash Webby.

That's wondery.fm slash Webby. Two B's and a Y to cast your vote in the best science and education podcast category. I hope I can count on you. Vote now before the polls close Thursday, April 18th at wondery.fm slash webby. Next on American History Tellers, J. Edgar Hoover uses his public relations machine to twist the average truth of two small-time Midwestern criminals into one final, heroic, spellbinding triumph of the FBI. If you like American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free

on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. From Wondery, this is American History Tellers. I hope you enjoyed this episode. If you're listening on a smartphone, tap or swipe over the cover art of this podcast. You'll find the episode notes, including some details you may have missed. You can also find us and me on Twitter and Facebook.

Follow the show at A.H. Tellers, and I'm at Lindsey A. Graham. And at A.H. Tellers, and I'm at Lindsey A. Graham. And thank you. American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham for Airship. Sound design by Derek Behrens. This episode is written by Matthew Cecil,

edited by Audrey Dilling, edited and produced by Jenny Lauer Beckman. Our executive producer is Marshall Louis, created by Hernán López for Wondery. In the Pacific Ocean, halfway between Peru and New Zealand, lies a tiny volcanic island. It's a little-known British territory called Pitcairn. And it harboured a deep, dark scandal. There wouldn't be a girl on Pitcairn once they reached the age of 10

that would still have heard it. It just happens to all of them. I'm journalist Luke Jones, and for almost two years, I've been investigating a shocking story that has left deep scars on generations of women and girls from Pitcairn. When there's nobody watching, nobody going to report it,

people will get away with what they can get away with. In the Pitcairn Trials, I'll be uncovering a story of abuse and the fight for justice that has brought a unique, lonely Pacific island to the brink of extinction. Listen to the Pitcairn Trials exclusively on Wondery+. Join Wondery in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts or Spotify.