American History Tellers - The Great Depression - Progress and Pushback | 5

Episode Date: March 20, 2019

After two of President Roosevelt’s closest advisors competed to create a new federal jobs program, the White House launched one of Roosevelt's keystone initiatives: the Works Progress Administration. Under this program, millions of Americans earned government salaries at a wide range of blue- and white-collar jobs — everything from building post offices and painting murals to delivering library books by horseback to rural communities.However, the federal government’s increased reach worried FDR’s opponents, especially a wildly popular Catholic radio preacher. Father Charles Coughlin once helped FDR get elected, but as the president’s power increased, Coughlin turned up the volume on hateful and anti-Semitic undertones in his attacks.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 early morning on a fall day in 1937. The sun's just starting to come up over the ridge ahead of you. The contents of your saddlebag shift and sway with each step of your horse. A thin column of smoke rises into the Kentucky sky. You crest the ridge and see a small creekside cabin in the valley below. A woman sweeping her front porch stops what she's doing and looks up.

She turns to the cabin and calls inside. When you're a few feet away from the porch, you rein in, step from the saddle, and tie the horse to a nearby post. A teenage boy walks out in dirty wool pants and a flannel shirt. Hi there, Mary. Good morning, Bill. How are you? Oh, swell, Mary. And how's your ma?

Oh, she's fine. She's still yammering about that darn radio program she heard last Sunday. You know, the one with the angry preacher who hates Roosevelt so much? You grit your teeth. That's Charles Coughlin and his golden hour of the Little Flower radio program. You get Father Coughlin out here? Oh, no. Ma was in town for church and went over to Mrs. Miller's house after the service. They have a big radio set. Mr. Miller insisted on listening to it. I don't think Ma could stomach it. She loves FDR. Well, I can understand.

You reach into one of your saddlebags and pull out a large, heavy volume. I wouldn't be out here if it wasn't for the WPA. Speaking of which, I have that atlas you wanted, and I know that Robert Louis Stevenson book's in here somewhere, too. Your work as a traveling librarian is exhausting, but however cold or wet it gets, you swell with pride each time you see appreciation, like what you see on William's face right now. Oh, thanks, Mary. Wow. William flips through the atlas. There it is, the Caribbean. I wonder if I can find Treasure Island. I bet you will. Ah, I hope you enjoy the books. Say hi to your ma when you get back inside.

I will. Have a good day, Mary. You close up your saddlebags, climb back to your horse, and ride over the Rickety Creek Bridge and toward your next stop. You're happy to have well-paying work and to provide a service that people like William clearly welcome. And it's all thanks to the Works Progress Administration,

the premier piece of Roosevelt's second New Deal. But you also know that there are many people in this country who aren't so happy. People like Father Coughlin and his growing mass of listeners who warn that the country is sliding towards socialism. Hey, this is Nick. And this is Jack. And we just launched a brand new podcast called The Best Idea Yet.

You may have heard of it. It's all about the untold origin stories of the products you're obsessed with. Listen to The Best Idea Yet on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. I'm Saatchi 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. Follow Scamfluencers on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story.

The sweeping reforms Franklin Roosevelt implemented when he became president in 1933 helped put millions of Americans back to work, but a full recovery was still far away. The traveling libraries were just one of thousands of projects that brought needed services and infrastructure directly to states and local communities, many of them still hurting from the economic collapse. At one point in Kentucky alone, packhorse librarians delivered thousands of books and magazines every month. They rode from before dawn to well after dusk each day and traveled hundreds of miles each month. Sometimes librarians even read to children, illiterate residents, and bedridden

people they visited. For many Americans, it was their only chance to get their hands on a book. But critics of the president's ambitious work relief strategy were fierce. Reactionaries to Roosevelt's right felt that the president's reforms threatened the private sector and undermined American values, while radicals on the left felt the president was selling their loyalty short and sacrificing their ideals. Still, Roosevelt forged ahead. In 1935, he laid out plans for a dramatic infrastructure building program.

Known as the Works Progress Administration, this program would reshape the fabric of the nation, even as it set up a clash of ideals about the government's role in the economy. This is Episode 5 of our six-part series on the Great Depression, Progress and Pushback During President Roosevelt's first 100 days in office, his administration implemented new safeguards for bank deposits, established programs to stabilize agricultural prices, created a new social security system, and instituted new oversight on Wall Street. It also put people back to work, first with the creation of the Civilian Conservation Corps, and then with two competing public works initiatives. Though both aimed at creating jobs, the different initiatives became the battleground for two of Roosevelt's inner circle, longtime advisor Harry L. Hopkins and Interior Secretary Harold Ickes. The two wielded tremendous power in shaping policy and controlling big budgets,

and each one pushed a contrasting agenda. Ultimately, their rivalry brought to sharp focus two opposing philosophies for how to respond to the Depression. Hopkins, Roosevelt's advisor, advocated for the government to aggressively provide work directly to people in need, while Ickes pushed for a bigger role for private partners in order to stimulate the economy. Hopkins was an Iowa native who moved to New York City after graduating from college. In New York, he became a social worker focused on issues such as child labor and employment, much like Secretary of Labor Francis Perkins, the first female cabinet member and a key architect of Roosevelt's Social Security program. In the early years of the Depression, while Roosevelt was still governor of New York, Hopkins helped build that state's

emergency relief program. When Roosevelt became president, he brought Hopkins with him to Washington, where Hopkins spearheaded a series of early federal work relief programs. Before 1933, though, the U.S. government had largely kept its hands out of direct aid, giving money or other assistance directly to those in need. Many in government, Hopkins included, thought it was politically and philosophically unpalatable to provide financial aid to able-bodied Americans. Hopkins believed that if the government provided direct financial relief to someone, it could destroy his spirit, whereas providing a job gave both income and dignity. During the frenetic first hundred days of the Roosevelt administration,

Hopkins conceived of and led the Federal Emergency Relief Administration, or FERA. Modeled on the temporary relief program Hopkins led under Roosevelt in New York, the FERA originally worked at the local level by providing money directly to the states. But for Hopkins, many states weren't working fast enough. When unemployment remained high as the first-year Roosevelt administration drew to a close, the FERA created a short-term job creation initiative, known as the Civil Works Administration, or CWA, to put people to work on construction and engineering projects.

But at the same time, Harold Ickes championed a rival program called the Public Works Administration, or PWA. Ickes grew up in Altoona, Pennsylvania, in a dysfunctional family with a violent father. After Ickes' mother died when he was 16 years old, he moved to live with a relative in Chicago, excelled at school, and ultimately became a lawyer and activist for school reform, civil liberties, workers' rights, and other progressive causes. He was a Republican, but he had also campaigned for Theodore Roosevelt's Progressive Party and became known as a progressive Republican. But Ickes was an idealist and actively campaigned for the Democrat FDR, earning him an appointment as Roosevelt's Interior Secretary. Created by the National

Industry Recovery Act, ICAS PWA paid for large projects like dams, bridges, schools, and hospitals, whereas Hopkins CWA hired unskilled laborers directly with federal money. The PWA contracted with private businesses, who did their own hiring. The CWA was only temporary, however, and when it expired in 1934, Roosevelt bowed to concerns that paying for it would drive the federal budget into debt and decided not to extend the program. However, without the work provided by the CWA, millions of Americans were left with nowhere to turn for financial assistance other than the government. As the year progressed, Roosevelt realized another employment

program was necessary. He worked with his administration to develop a request for nearly $5 billion, some of which would pay for public works programs and the rest to phase out the FERA. In January 1935, Roosevelt proposed the legislation to pay for the new programs. A newly seated Congress with a liberal majority passed the Emergency Relief Appropriation Act on April 8, 1935. Along with accompanying legislation, the law created a second New Deal. This package of reforms provided money for such programs as H.H. Hammond's Soil Conservation Service, which helped address the erosion issues contributing to Dust Bowl conditions, and the Resettlement Agency, which helped displaced families find new opportunity. But most significantly, Congress created massive work relief programs that gave government

jobs to unemployed Americans. The bill's passage was a victory for Roosevelt, but it also sparked a new fight between Ickes and Hopkins. Ickes wanted the money to go to programs that mostly relied on private contractors who would hire specialized employees, while Hopkins wanted the government to continue to directly provide work to the jobless. Hopkins originally wanted this work relief program to persist beyond the Depression in order to maintain future economic stability, but Roosevelt knew a permanent state-sponsored jobs program would give political

ammunition to opponents who viewed even emergency relief as socialism. So by compromising on the duration of the program and making it temporary, Hopkins prevailed. When Roosevelt signed Executive Order 7034 on May 6 and created the Works Progress Administration, or WPA, he chose Hopkins to lead it. The WPA would become one of Roosevelt's most popular initiatives. The CWA had created general labor jobs that didn't require specialized knowledge or skills. This time, the WPA created opportunities for work in any field. Lawyers or architects might find a WPA-funded project just as easily as a construction worker or a ditch digger, because a vast range of projects were approved as part of the WPA.

Some were tangible infrastructure like new post offices and school buildings. Others were specialized programs like the Traveling Library, operated by the WPA's Division of Women's and Professional Projects. All of it was backed by $4 billion of federal funding, and that was a lot. Before Roosevelt became president, federal public works spending amounted to just about 2% of all construction spending in the country, about $400 million annually. But New Deal programs boosted that figure to an annual average of $1.6 billion between 1933 and 1939, with government programs providing nearly a third of all construction spending during the Depression. But construction wasn't all the WPA did. Some of its most influential components funded arts,

education, and the humanities through a program known as Federal Project No. 1, or Federal One. One of these programs was the Federal Writers Project, which paid for historians, writers, librarians, and others to chronicle life in America. At first, the FWP wrote about the history, culture, and economy of various U.S. regions for a compilation known as the American Guide. Later projects captured the life histories of Americans in 24 states. One of these projects recorded the experiences of former slaves through oral histories and photographs. Federal One also funded projects in theater, the visual arts, and music. Legendary names in American culture were funded through

Federal One and other New Deal programs. They included photographers like Dorothea Lange, Minor White, and Bernice Abbott, and writers like Ralph Ellison, Zora Neale Hurston, and Studs Terkel. Jackson Pollock and Morris Graves were also among the artists who contributed murals, sculptures, and paintings that adorned and often still adorn post offices, schools, roadways, airports, walking trails, and countless other buildings and infrastructure. The efforts transformed the very appearance of America for years to come. Between 1935 and 1943, when the WPA was finally terminated, the program employed eight and a half million people. According to a government report on the WPA, in that eight-year span, these millions built or improved 8,000 parks, installed 16,000 miles of water pipes,

laid or improved 650,000 miles of roads, served 1.2 billion school lunches, and produced 382 million articles of clothing. But popular as the WPA was, especially for the millions of Americans it put to work, it had no shortage of detractors. The idea of the government spending billions to provide jobs and deciding which projects receive funds and which didn't reeked of socialism to some critics. They didn't believe it was the government's role to compete with private enterprise. And it didn't matter that Roosevelt was putting people to work instead of directly providing financial aid. And for others, the criticisms went even deeper. They believed the country was on a path towards communism.

Perhaps none articulated that fear more pointedly, or with a larger platform, than a popular Catholic radio preacher who had helped Roosevelt win his election in 1932. But just a few years later, he would become one of Roosevelt's harshest and most powerful antagonists. 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.

For more than two centuries, the White House has been the stage for some of the most dramatic scenes in American history. Inspired by the hit podcast American History Tellers, Wondery and William Morrow present the new book, The Hidden History of the White House. Each chapter will bring you inside the fierce power struggles, the world-altering decisions, and shocking scandals that have shaped our nation. You'll be there when the very foundations of the White House are laid in 1792, and you'll watch as the British burn it down in 1814. Then you'll hear the intimate conversations between FDR and Winston Churchill as they make plans to defeat Nazi forces in 1941. And you'll be in the Situation Room when President Barack Obama approves the raid to bring down the most infamous terrorist in American history. Order The Hidden History of the White House now in hardcover or digital edition,

wherever you get your books. Imagine it's September 10th, 1934. You're a 13-year-old baseball fan in Detroit, Michigan. There's nothing you love more than the noise of the crowd and Tiger Stadium washing over you from the old Philco radio set in your living room. In today's game, the Red Sox struck early, but it's been a pitcher's battle all day. The Tigers are just about to come out to bat in the seventh, but then your father charges into the room. Turn that off, son. I don't want you to

listen to that trash anymore. You're speechless for a second. Your dad usually loves listening to baseball. But dad, Boston's leading by one. It's the bottom of the seventh inning. Greenberg's just about to come to bat. Your father's face reddens. His fist clenches a newspaper in his hand so tightly, it looks like he'll tear it in two. Greenberg? That communist?

He doesn't believe in America. And he certainly doesn't believe in the Tigers. Dad, what are you talking about? He's not a communist. He's a Jew. That's halfway there. You're confused. You already knew Hammer and Hank is Jewish.

And so did your dad. You don't know any Jews, but you like Greenberg. He can hit. But lately, your father has been saying meaner and meaner things about Jewish people. Especially on Sundays. That's when he tunes into Father Coghlan. But right now, he's angrily shaking the newspaper at you. You see this? What is it? It's foreign gibberish. I can't even read it. Rosh Hashanah? Happy New Year? I don't know when they celebrate the New Year in Russia,

but in America, it's January 1st. Now change the station. But it's almost over, and the Tigers are only four games up. It's the pennant race. I don't care if the Tigers are 40 games up. Greenberg's pulling their strings, just like his people are pulling Roosevelt's strings. And don't get me started on those red lovers at the free press. Coughlin tells things like they really are. Now change the station or go to your room. Reluctantly, you walk to the radio set and switch it to WJR. You slump back into the floor, pull the brim of your tiger's cap over your eyes. You don't want your dad to see your tears. In the mid-1930s, the Detroit, Michigan area became a flashpoint for public opinion

about the government's responses to the Great Depression. There, automobile manufacturers, the factory workers who made their cars, and religious commentators all became proxies in the fight for the future of the New Deal and the hearts and minds of the country. That fight even gripped America's national pastime. In September 1934, the Detroit Tigers led the race for the American League pennant. Their star was 6'4 first baseman Hank Greenberg. Born in New York, Hammerin' Hank was Jewish, though he wasn't observant. As Greenberg's fame grew, though, he became a visible target for anti-Semitism on the field, in the stands, and beyond. That fall, when children across Detroit tuned their radio sets to follow the

Tigers battle Babe Ruth's Yankees for American League dominance, Greenberg put his religious identity into the spotlight. Greenberg's team was in the tough pennant race as the Jewish high holidays approached. Both Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, and Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, and perhaps the most sacred day on the Jewish calendar, drew near. Would he play and violate his people's holy traditions, or would he sit out and risk his team's chances? Greenberg didn't consider himself religious, but with hostility towards Jews and other minorities growing in Detroit and beyond, he felt like he didn't have any option but to make a stand. He would skip the September 10, 1934 game because it coincided with Rosh Hashanah.

Somewhat unexpectedly, Greenberg received tremendous support for his decision. On September 9, the day before the game, the Detroit Free Press ran a picture of Greenberg on its front page beneath a Rosh Hashanah greeting in Hebrew typeface with a rough translation of Happy New Year. The next morning, Greenberg went to synagogue. After services, he made his way to Navin Field, still in his street clothes as his teammates suited up for the game. He had not yet made a decision. He'd received advice from rabbis across the country, saying he should sit out on the holy day, but also to play for the good of the team and their fans. Then, at the last moment, he made up his mind. Hank Greenberg

was going to play. That day, the Red Sox led the Tigers through six and a half innings. But in the bottom of the seventh, Greenberg belted a solo home run to tie the game. The score remained one to one until the bottom of the ninth, and Greenberg was the Tigers' first batter that inning. He knocked the first pitch out of the park and secured the victory for Detroit. A happy new year for everybody, proclaimed the next day's paper. On Yom Kippur, nine days later, Greenberg did sit out. The Tigers lost. But the Detroit Free Press supported him still,

publishing the short poem, We shall miss him in the infield, and shall miss him at the bat. He's true to his religion, and I honor him for that. His stand and the Free Press's support were indirect but unquestionably conscious responses to another figure familiar to Detroit radio listeners, Charles Coughlin. Coughlin, a Catholic priest in the Detroit suburb of Royal Oak, was one of the earliest talk radio superstars. Roosevelt might have been the first president to use radio as a political tool, but his fireside chats met their

match in Father Coughlin's weekly Golden Hour of the Little Flower program. Stout, with a lopsided smile and wireframe spectacles, Coughlin delivered broadcasts with a deep, confident voice, sprinkled with what sounded like the faintest Irish brogue. Born and educated in Canada to Irish parents, he became a priest in 1916, then taught for seven years at Assumption College in Windsor on the American border. In 1923, Coughlin moved to the United States to preside over a small parish north of Detroit. Three years later, the church named him priest of the new Shrine of the Little Flower in Royal Oak. Coughlin began his pastorship raising money for the new church.

As part of this effort, he persuaded the Catholic manager of a Detroit radio station, WJR, to let him broadcast a Sunday afternoon sermon. Listeners, impressed by the broadcast, immediately started mailing donations to support Coughlin's fundraising drive. The next week, even more did, and Coughlin quickly became a radio star. CBS noticed and began broadcasting his show in 1930. At first, Coughlin's radio sermons only focused on the Catholic faith and religious matters. But then in 1930, Coughlin's radio sermons only focused on the Catholic faith and religious matters. But then in 1930, Coughlin shifted his tone dramatically.

Instead of discussing liturgical matters, Coughlin railed against communism. Choose today, he told listeners in one broadcast, it is either Christ or the red fog of communism. As the Depression spread, Coughlin also targeted capitalism and the Wall Street titans he called banksters, who he claimed were responsible for the economic crash. He compared them and Herbert Hoover to wolves and money changers and true yet more listeners. Concerned by this politicization, CBS executives demanded to review Coughlin's scripts and refuse the first one he sent. In response, though, Coughlin mobilized his League of the Little Flower fan group to write letters of protest on his behalf.

CBS canceled Coughlin's contract, but he was so popular that it didn't matter. With help from executives at WJR, Coughlin created his own independent network that eventually grew to 36 stations. And his audience grew even faster, and donations continued to pour in. Eventually, 30 to 40 million listeners a week, roughly one-third of the nation's population, tuned in to listen to Coughlin. Over time, he repeated and expanded the political themes of his tirades. And communists weren't Coughlin's only target. He railed against what he called a cabal of international Jews, though he was careful not to express blanket anti-Semitic attitudes.

Instead, he used easily recognizable dog whistles, like money changers, a term Coughlin was quick to point out Roosevelt himself had used in his inauguration as well. Coughlin originally supported Roosevelt, but as Roosevelt's administration got underway, Coughlin felt betrayed by New Deal policies, including currency policy. When Roosevelt first became president in 1933, he abandoned the gold standard as part of his effort to stabilize the banking system. Roosevelt's administration took the next year to plan its steps regarding the monetary system. As it did so, Coughlin repeatedly preached in support of the government moving to a silver standard. But in 1934, President Roosevelt signed the Gold Reserve Act. This legislation nationalized the country's gold reserves,

prohibited private ownership of the metal, and then established a fixed, elevated price for it. This artificially inflated the value of the U.S. dollar and the value of government reserves, allowing Roosevelt to pay for his New Deal programs. But what Coughlin didn't say on the radio was that he used listeners' donations to buy hundreds of thousands of ounces of silver, hoping to make millions if the government pegged the dollar to the price of silver, hoping to make millions if the government pegged the dollar to the price of silver, as he urged them to do. Coughlin bought so much silver that the Treasury Department published his Radio League's name among a public list of heavy investors in the metal.

This was an embarrassing revelation. Coughlin gambled on silver with listeners' donations, starkly contradicting his years of preaching against the evils of speculation. And Coughlin was incensed to be found out. Aware that Treasury Secretary Henry Morgenthau was Jewish, the preacher defended his investments by calling silver the Gentile metal and invoking old and false claims about the Jewish Rothschild family using gold to control international banking. But such anti-Semitic ideologies weren't new to Detroit. In the 1920s, in the suburb of Dearborn, automotive magnate Henry Ford Sr. published an English translation of the 1903 Russian screed The Protocols of the Elders of Zion. This discredited forgery alleged that an international Jewish conspiracy controlled world events.

In 1920, Ford also famously wrote, If fans wish to know the trouble with American baseball, they have it in three words, too much Jew. Later that decade, after publishing other tracks alleging Jewish control of international relations, Ford reluctantly distanced himself from the publications, but he didn't abandon his broader anti-Semitic rhetoric.

In fact, once Coughlin came on the scene, Ford supported his divisive programming, including Coughlin's opposition to Roosevelt's efforts to end more than a decade of isolationist policy. After World War I, President Woodrow Wilson had sought to join the League of Nations and the Permanent Court of International Justice, otherwise known as the World Court, but the U.S. Senate refused to sign treaties committing the nation to these bodies. Years later, in 1935, Roosevelt again tried to submit proposals for the country to join the World Court. Coughlin despised this idea, calling it a tool of the so-called international bankers he decried.

He mobilized listeners to flood Congress with letters and telegrams opposing the court, and the Senate rejected it three days after Coughlin broadcast a harsh speech against joining the court. Energized by the World Court's rejection, Coughlin created what he called a National Union for Social Justice,

mobilizing his listeners into a force at the ballot box. In a letter to a fan in April 1935, Coughlin suggested that she arrange meetings called Social Justice Evenings at her home. The aim, he explained, was to secure voters for his organization in time for the 1936 presidential election. He also urged her to continue supporting the union through monthly donations of 10 cents or more. Coughlin hoped to build a serious third party, called the Union Party, that could take on Roosevelt and his Democrats and the Republicans.

But there was little hope for his party. Thanks in part to the popularity of the WPA, Roosevelt won with 523 electoral votes. The Republican candidate Alf Landon won eight, carrying only Maine and Vermont. Coughlin's Union Party candidate, North Dakota Congressman William Lemke, didn't even crack a million votes. The Union Party's humiliating defeat infuriated Coughlin. Embittered about what he perceived as stolen democracy,

Coughlin began openly advocating fascism and tinging his broadcasts with violent rhetoric. He also stopped couching his anti-Semitic attitudes. In 1936, he launched a newsletter called Social Justice, in which he later also published The Protocols of the Elders of Zion. And after the 1938 Kristallnacht attacks on Jewish businesses in Germany and Austria,

Coughlin said Jews were only being persecuted because Christians had been targeted first. After World War II began in 1939, regulators began enforcing restrictions against Coughlin. But it wasn't until May 1942, after the U.S. entered the war, that Coughlin was finally silenced through orders from the Vatican and new restrictions from the Postal Service for mailing his newsletter. By that time, however, Coughlin's popularity had already started to erode.

But as Roosevelt began his second term in 1937, another conflict had begun to stir in Michigan. Despite some gains in the economy, many working people were still unsatisfied with the New Deal's reforms, and they were ready to fight. A new year was dawning, and a battle for the future of the American worker was about to explode. I'm Tristan Redman, and as a journalist, I've never believed in ghosts. But when I discovered that my wife's great-grandmother was murdered in the house next door to where I grew up,

I started wondering about the inexplicable things that happened in my childhood bedroom. When I tried to find out more, I discovered that someone who slept in my room after me, someone I'd never met, was visited by the ghost of a faceless woman. So I started digging into the murder in my wife's family, and I unearthed family secrets nobody could have imagined. Ghost Story won Best Documentary Podcast at the 2024 Ambies and is a Best True Crime nominee at the British Podcast Awards 2024. Ghost Story is now the first ever Apple Podcast series essential. Each month, Apple Podcast editors spotlight one series that has captivated listeners

with masterful storytelling, creative excellence, and a unique creative voice and vision. To recognize Ghost Story being chosen as the first series essential, Wondery has made it ad-free for a limited time only on Apple Podcasts. If you haven't listened yet, head over to Apple Podcasts to hear for yourself. How did Birkenstocks go from a German cobbler's passion project 250 years ago to the Barbie movie today? Who created that bottle of red Sriracha with a green top that's permanently living in your fridge? Did you know that the Air Jordans were initially banned by the NBA?

We'll explore all that and more in The Best Idea Yet, a brand new podcast from Wondery and T-Boy. This is Nick. This is Nick. This is Jack. And we've covered over a thousand episodes of pop business news stories on our daily podcast. We've identified the most viral products of all time and their wild origin stories that you had no idea about.

From the Levi's 501 jeans to Legos. Come for the products you're obsessed with. Stay for the business insights that are gonna blow up your group chat. Jack, Nintendo, Super Mario Brothers, best-selling video game of all time. How'd they do it? Nintendo never fires anyone, ever. Follow The Best Idea Yet on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts.

You can listen to The Best Idea Yet early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus. Imagine it's January 11th, 1937. You've just arrived outside of General Motors' Fisher No. 2 auto body plant in Flint, Michigan. It's cold, and tension hangs in the air as police, armed with tear gas, begin to deploy outside the factory. You grip the food you brought for the scores of men who have locked themselves inside. They need your strength. You're part of the union, even if you aren't inside with them. Suddenly, the police rush the factory, lobbing tear gas canisters into the doors of the plant, hoping to smoke out the strikers inside. The melee ensues as workers spray water from fire hoses to push back the

police who charge from the gates. The streets are turning into an icy battlefield, but then a woman's voice calls out through an amplifier. It's Janora. Janora Johnson. You cowards! Are you here to protect and serve, or are you just corporate stooges? A cheer rises up from the inside of the plant. They can hear Jinora too. You raise your voice. This is why you came down to the plant and joined the fight. To help the men on the factory floor stay there

until every one of you get what you deserve from GM. The streets are filled with picketers, local residents, company men. It seems like people on all sides of the issue have turned up to push their agenda. Everyone knows how high the stakes have gotten. You and some of the other women begin to step forward from the crowd. You stare at the police at the gate. With adrenaline racing, you cry out, adding your voice to the din. If you want to get in there, you're going to have to go through us.

When she was just 23 years old, Janora Johnson organized both the Women's Emergency Brigade and the Women's Auxiliary of the United Auto Workers during one of the largest and most successful labor strikes in U.S. history. While Charles Coughlin licked his wounds and spewed ever more hostile rhetoric over the airwaves, just 66 miles to the northwest, thousands of autoworkers began the Flint sit-down strike. This groundbreaking protest began at 8 p.m. on December 30, 1936, after a series of smaller strikes a few weeks earlier. That night, members of the United Auto Workers, employed at General Motors' Fisher Body Plant No. 1, learned that the company planned to move equipment,

such as steel dyes, to other plants the following day. The steel dyes were a crucial piece of stamping the car bodies on the production line. So, to prevent the transfer, and thus keep GM from moving production elsewhere, the night shift workers locked themselves in the plant instead of going home. In doing so, they effectively paralyzed the company. Before the strike, GM employees were underpaid, and conditions at the plants were horrendous. Plants were poorly insulated from Flint's bitter winter chills, and air circulated poorly during hot, muggy Midwest summers. Breaks were scarce regardless of season,

and previous strikes attempting to address these conditions in 1930 and 34 were quickly broken up. To prevent future strikes, GM hired the Pinkerton Detective Agency to infiltrate the UAW and spy on organizers. The company also frequently sent work to non-union plants and otherwise tried to block labor organizing. Flint was essentially a company town. Eighty percent of the 150,000 people who lived in the city in 1936 worked for GM. The company's plants there built engines for the Chevrolet line and stamped nearly all of the car bodies the company used throughout its range of brands. But that year, the already bad conditions grew unbearable. A July heat wave caused temperatures to rise so high that autoworkers collapsed right on the production line.

Rather than move or treat workers who fainted, supervisors told other workers just to step over them as they completed their tasks. Among the hundreds who died in Michigan during that heat wave, dozens of workers at GM and other autoworkers' plants succumbed. Leaders of the United Autoworkers were inspired to take action by sit-down strikes in Europe and a few small ones at other GM suppliers. They also felt emboldened by the 1935 signing of the National Labor Relations Act, also known as the Wagner Act in recognition of its sponsor, New York Senator Robert Wagner. That legislation created the National Labor Relations Board, or NLRB, to protect workers' rights and arbitrate disputes between employers and employees. The act also protected collective

bargaining, defended workers' freedom of association, and prevented employers from trying to block unions from forming or discriminating against employees who made labor complaints. But the law was one thing. It was another reality on the ground. This strike would be the first big test of the new protections. After strikers occupied the plant, GM claimed they were trespassing and turned to a friendly judge who issued an injunction ordering them to leave. The striking autoworkers, 2,000 in all, didn't budge. On January 4th, GM received a list of demands. The union wanted a company-wide agreement between GM and the union, an end to piecework, the practice of paying workers

for each piece they complete rather than the time they work, and the reinstatement of workers who had been fired for previous union organizing. GM refused each demand. A week later, the strike persisted, so GM decided to pressure strikers who had occupied a smaller plant, Fisher No. 2, and shut off the heat, lock an outside gate, and took away the ladders supporters used to bring food to the striking workers. Hungry union members tried to break through the lock gate from the inside. This gave the company a pretext to call in law enforcement. Police and sheriffs attacked with batons, tear gas, even guns.

Fourteen people were injured. But this and future skirmishes might have been worse had it not been for Genora Johnson and her Women's Emergency Brigade. When the strike began, only male autoworkers remained inside the plant. Women working in the plant were told to go home. But Johnson, who had joined the Flint Socialist Party when she was 18 and was married to one of the strikers occupying the Fisher No. 2 plant, decided to organize the women to support and protect the workers inside the factories. After the violent clash on January 11, Johnson and the other women who engaged police that day

formed the Women's Emergency Brigade. They wore armbands and distinct red berets, and throughout the occupation, members brought food and other vital supplies to the workers inside. They also went to strikers' homes to assure their families they were safe, to enlist more support for the brigade, and to collect cash and food to support the strike. And the next time police attacked the strikers, the women's brigade, armed with brooms, improvised clubs, and other makeshift weapons, stepped between them and the union members inside. This confounded the police, who weren't prepared to use the same kind of violence against women

as they might have against men. Their brave interference stymied police and company attempts to end the strike, allowing union leaders time to plan and execute the occupation of other plants at the Flint facility, helping secure a crucial strategic victory. After the January 11th skirmishes, Michigan Governor Frank Murphy, during just his first month in office, sent the National Guard to Flint. But rather than reinforce the police, as many strikers feared they would, the soldiers kept the peace and prevented further violence on either side.

As the strike continued, it drew national attention. At the White House, it drove a wedge between Roosevelt and his vice president, John Nance Garner. Garner wanted the federal government to break up the strike, but Roosevelt disagreed

and urged General Motors to recognize the union. Just a few weeks into their second term, this difference marked an increasing divide between Roosevelt and Garner. Finally, on February 11th, after 44 days of tense standoff, General Motors accepted the strikers' demands and recognized the union. The GM workers' success led to 87 more sit-down strikes in the Detroit area alone within two weeks of the UAW's victory. Within a year, the union's membership mushroomed from 30,000 people to half a million, and autoworker wages increased by 300 percent. Following Roosevelt's victory in the 1936

elections, labor unions began the new year hopeful for their ability to win concessions from employers. The United Autoworkers' victory in Flint further buttressed these hopes. But the optimism was short-lived. In the coming years, the rising power of unions drew a violent response. Mafiosos broke into Janora Johnson's home and attacked her with a lead pipe as she slept, severely injuring her. They also beat other UAW leaders and attacked the union's president, Walter Ruther, and his brother, Victor.

The coming year also brought significant roadblocks for Roosevelt and his allies. The economy stumbled. Challenges to New Deal programs gained new life, this time in the courts. In order to secure his agenda, Roosevelt prepared to go to war with the courts themselves. But the move was bitterly controversial, and Roosevelt would pay tremendous costs,

including making enemies of some of his most staunch allies. Next on American History Tellers, a new economic recession hits as opponents of Roosevelt's New Deal programs win key victories in court. The president responds by trying to pack the Supreme Court with new judges, angering some within his own party. And only as the world plunges toward global conflict does an end to the Depression finally come into view. 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 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 Bill Lasher, edited by Dorian Marina, produced by Jenny Lauer Beckman. Our executive producer is Marshall Louis. Created by Hernán López for Wondering. 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.

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