History That Doesn't Suck - 171: Christmas Special VIII: Festivities in the Jazz Age

Episode Date: December 2, 2024

“There is a million dollars here for the asking!” This is the story of Christmas in the 1920s.  Yeah, the whole decade—why not? One hundred years ago, people were just beginning (or reviving) traditions that are entrenched in our holiday celebrations today. Charitable giving at Christmas is ever present, and the winter of 1920 features the Great Humanitarian Herbert Hoover’s efforts to feed children in Europe with his “Invisible Guest” dinners. Another president, “Silent Cal” Coolidge, holds the first National Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony in 1923, cementing electric tree lights into our celebrations. And carols on the radio are coming into full swing, with live broadcasts from musicians like the Mount Holyoke Carol Choir.  And who can forget America’s proud tradition of consumerism? Ok, that didn’t start in the 1920s, but this is definitely the decade for some really swell presents. The Great War is over, wages are high, and it’s time to buy! Santa Claus himself appears at a 1928 Knoxville parade through the streets and stores, delighting children and business owners alike. After the Crash, Christmases get a bit more economical, so let’s celebrate while we still can. Merry Christmas and happy holidays!  ____ Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com and go deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendations join discussions in our Facebook community get news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette  come see a live show get HTDS merch or become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks. HTDS is part of the Airwave Media Network.  Interested in advertising on the History That Doesn't Suck? Email us at [e-mail] Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

This episode is brought to you by Missouri. From November 25th to December 2nd, get 25% off everything on orders over $150 in Missouri's biggest sale ever. From bold hoops to minimalist stacks, Missouri has something for everyone. Missouri makes handcrafted fine jewelry for every day made with responsibly sourced materials so you can look and feel good about gifting and wearing them. Shop your wishlist 25% off at majurie.com today. Breaking news happens anywhere, anytime.

Police have warned the protesters repeatedly, get back. CBC News brings the story to you as it happens. Hundreds of wildfires are burning. Be the first to know what's going on and what that means for you and for Canadians. This situation has changed very quickly. Helping make sense of the world when it matters most. Stay in the know. CBC News. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor Greg Jackson and as in the classroom, my goal here is to make rigorously researched history come to life as your storyteller.

Each episode is the result of laborious research with no agenda other than making the past come to life as you learn. If you'd like to help support this work, receive ad-free episodes, bonus content, and other exclusive perks, I invite you to join the HTTDS membership program. Sign up for a 7-day free trial today at HTTDScast.com slash membership or click the link in the episode notes. It's a frigid winter's night, December 29th, 1920, and we're on 42nd Street in New York City at the newly built Hotel Commodore. Yes, the Hotel Commodore, not the Hyatt Grand Central. Future generations will know this impressive midtown building connected to Grand Central

Station by the latter name and envision it with a reflective glass facade. But those renovations are decades down the road. Right now, on this cold winter's night, the 26-story, 2,000-room hotel Commodore is covered in a beautiful red brick as New York City's well-bundled but likewise well-dressed elite make their way inside. But it's a curious sight as tonight's guests enter the gilded grand ballroom. Here they are, nearly a thousand of the Big Apple's uber-rich and high society. Men in full dress, women in evening gowns adorned with sparkling jewels, each dining at a

$1,000 per dinner plate. And yet, there isn't a tablecloth to be seen. No, in front of them lie rows of unpainted wooden tables. As they approach, each guest picks up their own tin dish. That's right, no china nor silver tonight. From tables at the end of the ballroom, Red Cross nurses serve a humble meal. A small helping of rice, two slices of unbuttered bread, and a meager portion of cocoa. At the head of the table, in the place of honor, is an impressive chair. Yet, it's empty, as is the tray before it, save for a tall flickering tallow candle. The empty seat of honor is intentional.

It represents this evening's invisible guest, someone who cannot be present today. The undernourished child of Europe. Okay, this sounds pretty dramatic. And that's intentional, of course. In fact, let's pause a moment and get some background. This paradoxically humble $1,000 a plate dinner is a fundraiser. The man behind it is 1920s America's favorite humanitarian whom we met in the last episode, Herbert Hoover. Brilliant organizer that he is, Bert has convinced several well-established charities like the Red Cross, the YMCA, the Knights of Columbus, and the Jewish Joint Distribution Committee to team up to form

the European Relief Council. Together, they mean to feed and care for the millions of starving children in Europe still suffering amid the aftermath of the recent Great War. I know, it's so Bert Hoover, the man who fed Belgium during the war and now the current head of the American Relief Administration, he's managed to write articles and press releases as well as speak all across the nation in an effort to advertise for the European Relief Council. His committee runs ads in the papers asking that, quote, every American family receives some number of these children as invisible guests at their Christmas table to give us the money that we may buy on their behalf,

food, clothing, and medical help, close quote. Presently, they're trying to secure enough funds to feed six to7 million European children this winter, hence this evening's $1,000 price tag for each $0.22 meal. The rice bread cocoa special is a typical Hoover luncheon, exactly what they're feeding the kids overseas. These adults are getting 963 calories though, which is double the usual child-sized portion. And now that you're up to speed, let's get back to our modest meal.

Sitting on either side of the invisible guest's empty chair are the evening's two hosts. One is the ruddy, round-faced Herbert Hoover now sipping on his cocoa. The other is the commander of the Great War's American Expeditionary Force. Yes, our old friend, General Black Jack Pershing. Recently elevated to the newly created rank of General of the Armies, the grain mustachioed general sits in full military uniform, his medals glistening in the candlelight as he bites into his unbuttered bread. Two humble men humbly eating.

It's a powerful scene. As Edward V. Reese will describe it in tomorrow's Brooklyn Eagle, it was a picture long to be remembered. On the one hand, the man who cradled Belgium in his arms, the leader in the work of building up the broken bodies and gaunt frames of Europe. On the other, the soldier who led the American armies to victory on the plains of France. And between the two, the vacant chair of the hunger-stricken children with its fitfully burning candle.

The impression which the two men in the empty chair drove home was tremendous." Close quote. I know, every bit as eloquent as his muckraking father, Jacob, whom we met in a past Christmas special. Those Reiss men just have a way with words. Anyhow, with little to eat in the first place, most guests are done with their meals within fifteen minutes, and an evening program soon begins. We can't say for certain what the sequence of events is, but at some point, a reel plays

and a series of flashing images appears on a large screen set up at one end of the ballroom. We see kids eating soup, sometimes spilling on themselves, but all the while smiling for the camera. Those sweet pictures contrast starkly to the heart-wrenching images of sickly thin children with their arms outstretched, seemingly begging the wealthy guests to help them. The program includes speeches, and naturally naturally our two famous hosts are among the speakers. Blackjack has a few brief words. Having witnessed the worst of the war, the nation's foremost soldier takes this opportunity to plead for the limitation of armaments. It is time for enlightened peoples to profit by the experience of the six terrible years we have been through and take steps to prevent

war. The war sick crowd couldn't agree more. Ladies and gentlemen, rise to their feet in thunderous applause. Meanwhile, when almost six foot tall and husky Herbert Hoover addresses the crowd, he drives home the discrepancy between American prosperity and European need. Fellow Americans in service, if there is any hunger or cold in America this winter, it is due to either the foolish functioning of the social, economic, or political system. There might be some excuse for gloom if the situation here was that of any of the nations

of Eastern or Central Europe, where there is but 5 to 7 months food supply, with the harvest 8 months away. There are nearly seven million automobiles in the United States, and we have but three and a half million invisible guests. So long as any person in this nation can entertain a motor car, he can entertain an invisible guest. The photos, these speeches, and still others. It's all so poignant. At some point, as the program continues, an unknown gentleman suddenly rises and calls

out, there is a million dollars here for the asking. Well, this is a little awkward. The invitation specifically stated that the organizers wouldn't solicit any contributions beyond the $1,000 of play admission. Burt reminds the audience of this, politely refusing the generous call. But the unknown man is undaunted. He rises again, more insistent this time, proposing that Burt proceed with a collection. The crowd enthusiastically carries the motion. The collection goes around and as it passes through the hands of these

A-listered New Yorkers, like Samuel Sacks, the co-founder of Goldman Sachs, Andrew Carnegie's widow, Louise Carnegie, and Ralph Pulitzer, the son of the now deceased but famed world newspaper proprietor, Joseph Pulitzer, the unknown man's prediction does indeed prove accurate. The collection comes to a million dollars. And yet, that's not the end of the giving. Not to be outdone by other guests, John D. Rockefeller Jr. announces that same evening that he will give a million dollars.

That brings the amount for this single dinner to three million bucks. Over the course of the entire campaign, Americans give almost $30 million to the European Relief Council, the equivalent of just under half a billion in 2024. Thanks in large part to the organizational efforts of Burt Hoover, millions of starving European children will eat and survive the winter. It is nothing less than a late Christmas miracle. History That Doesn't Suck is sponsored by BetterHelp. One of the most haunting screen portrayals of the vampire legend is from the 1922 German

silent film Nosferatu. We talked about this film in this year's Halloween special. Staring at the ghostly black and white image of the pointy-eared gargoyle-like Count Orlok still sends a shiver down the spine. While writing that episode, I was reminded of how fear is such a powerful emotion. Fear isn't just something we experience while watching a scary movie. There are a lot of things in life that can frighten us. But sometimes we've got to face and overcome our fear to move forward.

That can be tough to do, and that's when therapy could help. If you're thinking of starting therapy give BetterHelp a try. It's entirely online designed to be convenient, flexible, and suited to your schedule. Just fill out a brief questionnaire to get matched with a licensed therapist and switch therapists at any time for no additional charge. Overcome your fears with BetterHelp. Visit betterhelp.com slash HTDS today to get 10% off your first month. That's BetterHelp.com slash HTDS. This episode is brought to you by Missouri. From November 25th to December 2nd, get 25% off everything on orders

over $150 in Missouri's biggest sale ever. From bold hoops to minimalist stacks, Majore has something for everyone. Majore makes handcrafted fine jewelry for every day made with responsibly sourced materials so you can look and feel good about gifting and wearing them. Shop your wishlist 25% off at majore.com today. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! It's time for our eighth annual Christmas special, and seeing as we've spent the whole of this year's episodes roaring through the 1920s, today I was thinking I'd take a similar approach by regaling new with a few Christmas

tales from across the decade. Some deepen our understanding of historical figures we've already met, like that opening story of Herbert Hoover's incredibly successful December 1920 fundraiser, just another example of why everyone thought he'd make such a good president. Meanwhile, others are stories of important traditions forming that will continue well into America's future. We'll start with another presidential tale, with Calvin Coolidge, to be precise, lighting up a Christmas tree near the White House. We'll then meet a Holyoke College professor who's out to teach the women in his choir, and frankly, all of America,

to value Christmas carols on a deeper level. Finally, we'll head to Knoxville, Tennessee, for the city's first Santa Claus parade. The first of many to come. So ready for a little Christmas cheer before we head deep into our coming episodes on the Great Depression? Yeah, I think we need this too. And we begin with a trip to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Here we go. Ho, ho, ho!

Merry Christmas! Avenue. Here we go. It's just after dusk, Christmas Eve, 1923. We're just south of the White House, standing with a group of people in the large open space inside the circular road known as the ellipse. As we do, President Calvin Coolidge is walking our way. Serving as Vice President until Warren G. Harding sadly died this past summer, this is Calvin's first Christmas as the President and tonight the slender, famously taciturn New Englander, hence the nickname of Silent Cal, is doing something none of his predecessors have done. He's illuminating a massive tree here to the south of the White House. Okay, the President is glad handing, so let me tell you about this tree as he makes the

rounds. It's magnificent. The idea started with the District of Columbia Public Schools wanting to put up a Christmas tree and that led to this massive evergreen gift from the great state of Vermont. Now, I can't officially comment, but one might think that Vermont got the honor of supplying the tree because Cal and his wife Grace are proud Vermonters themselves. Then again, perhaps it's simply because the Green Mountain State takes its Christmas trees very seriously.

Harvesting them from old abandoned farmland in the mountains, these Vermont trees are always nicely spaced out and grow into beautiful full shapes. Head of Middlebury College, Dr. Paul Dwight Moody, selected this particular 48-foot spruce. He sent it to the White House in early December with a note, saying, I hope that the big tree will prove a factor in contributing toward the true Yuletide spirit throughout the land." I'm sure it will, and to his point, this tree is already taking significance far beyond the local school system.

It's now being called the National Christmas Tree. Oh, but I'll stop there. Looks like Cal is about to perform his Presidential Christmas Tree Act. It's now five o'clock. Our strong but silent Commander in Chief presses a button. Every face in the crowd fills with the light as 2,500 red, white, and green electric lights simultaneously come to life, brightly illuminating the tree. The festivities of this Presidential Christmas Eve only continue from there.

Visiting, caroling, and at 7pm, the US Marine Band, aka the President's Own, begins a magnificent performance. These musically gifted devil dogs play for a full hour. Then at 9pm, the First Lady welcomes hundreds of eager citizens to the White House. They've come caroling, singing songs published in the Evening Star newspaper just for this occasion. This National Christmas tree, as the enormous, well-lit Vermont Evergreen in the ellipse is indeed known, will shine brightly every night until New Year's.

It's also the start of a new presidential tradition, one that, despite some interruptions, will continue right into the 21st century. But to keep our focus on this first national Christmas tree, it is perhaps particularly meaningful as it so quickly evolves into a new symbol of national community. It is also a very public display of that now decades-old but still spreading technology, electric lighting. Before wrapping lights around the Christmas tree, Americans, like Yuletide-loving Europeans, lit their Christmas trees with candles.

That's right, live flames dancing on the supple branches of a slowly dying tree inside a house. Often, a wooden house. Not the safest situation, then, so we can see why Thomas Alba Edison's electric bulbs are catching on as a safer alternative here in the early 20th century. But it's not just safety making these electric lights catch on. Colored lights, like the ones Silent Cowl just turned on, are making for a whole new

Christmas aesthetic, one that will quickly spread. This Christmas with Silent Cowl and Grace Coolidge sounds so normal to our 21st century ears. Yet, how curious that it's a native New Englander who starts the national tree tradition. After all, the Puritans who played such a large role in the creation of New England didn't celebrate Christmas. In fact, they considered Carols sinful and a puritanical aversion to Christmas festivities lingered in New England up through the 1880s, which was when Silent Cow was growing up in Vermont. But Cow Coolidge isn't the only New Englander loosening up and embracing the Christmas spirit.

Indeed, one New England institution's embrace of the season is having a rather outsized national impact. Though its founder, Mary Lyon, was such a non-fan of Christmas that she forbade her early to mid-19th century students from decorating or exchanging gifts, Mount Holyoke College has changed its tune considerably by the 1920s. Now, this Western Massachusetts women's college has a choir that specializes in singing ancient carols. This caroling choir even tours professionally and that is all but entirely thanks to its

fearless leader, Dr. William Churchill Hammond. Mr. H., as the students call the bespectacled New Englander, is an accomplished organist and conductor. He has been a Holyoke faculty member since about the turn of the century, and is also an avid collector of obscure Christmas carols. He began by teaching these forgotten carols to his church children's choir, but found that their young voices didn't have the depth he was looking for. That led him to turn to his Holyoke students instead, giving us the Mount Holyoke Carole

Choir. Everyone at Mount Holyoke knows and respects Mr. H. To quote choir girl Margaret S. Holy, When Mr. H. plays, there are very few girls, I think, who would not admit willingly that they've been greatly stirred by his music. Throughout the week, we strive hard for an appearance of unconcern. But when Mr. H turns the lights low and begins to play softly, one senses immediately the restfulness

that settles over the chapel. Then there is no need to keep on our masks. We can rest for half an hour and really feel. This feeling of joy, comfort, and happiness is exactly what the holidays are about. Now, Mr. H's beloved carols are often in foreign languages and even when in English, largely unknown to the American public. But none of that will deter the determined New Englander from spreading his musical Christmas cheer to an audience far beyond Massachusetts.

Or even a single music hall. It's a chilly Saturday evening, December 19, 1925. We're seated comfortably inside New York's town hall. No, not the municipality's seat of government. This is the recently built auditorium on 43rd Street between 6th and 7th Avenues. Every available seat of this brick theater is jam-packed with Holyoke alumni. And, it's worth noting, there isn't a bad seat in the house. The theater prides itself on being built democratically, so there are

no pillars or boxes in our way. Tonight's musical program consists of carols from the 13th century onward and a few of Mr. H's beloved organ performances, but there's an even bigger novelty. This program is being broadcast live to New York radio listeners. At this point, radio is truly taking off and stations are pleased to broadcast today's performance. Ah, but shh, the audience is quieting down. It seems like the program is about to begin.

We don't know exactly how things start here, but it's likely that Mr. H steps onto the stage then motions to the girls in some way, since he won't be directing them. What can I say? He's a bit preoccupied as the organ soloist. Mr. H gets seated on his bench and then, somehow, they begin. Most of their music is new to the majority alumni crowd in the house tonight, but all listen intently and feel transported as unfamiliar songs such as Down and Yon Forest and Bring in a Torch, Wafed Through the Air, along with other carols in foreign languages. Yes, it

seems that Mr. H's musical talents carried tonight by the talents of his students are just as magical as Margaret described them. The Holyoke Choir continues to perform across the nation and the reviews are nothing but complimentary. Newspapers often praise the reviews are nothing but complimentary. Newspapers often praise the ladies' fresh voices and enthusiasm.

As for Mr. H, one reviewer writes that, as an organist, Dr. Hammond quite exceeds his ability as a conductor, which is saying a great deal. And as they travel from one venue to the next, Mr. H and the women's choir are deepening the nation's caroling tradition. From the technical wizardry of Cal's National Christmas Tree to the ethereal grace of the Holy Oak Choir's carols, the Roaring Twenties are indeed starting, or renewing, many a Christmas tradition that will stay with the United States well into the 21st century. And in Tennessee, these deepening traditions include Santa forgoing his usual inconspicuousness to come to town in a very public and visible way.

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Airwave History Plus, the essential audio destination for history lovers. It's a little before noon, Friday, November 30, 1928. We're at the corner of Gay Street and East Main in Knoxville, Tennessee, where countless children and parents are standing in the midst of a rather heavy downpour. A truly unpleasant situation, true, but the children are so excited. Today is Knoxville's first Santa Claus parade, or at least it's supposed to be. While some 15,000 would-be spectators made phone calls that overwhelmed the parade-sponsoring Knoxville Journal's phone line, so much so that some calls were redirected to co-sponsoring businesses and even to the

city jail. These families chose to brave the elements just in case. Some families had little choice. They'd already traveled several miles to be here and turning around wasn't exactly an option. But alas, Santa is not coming to town today. The rain would ruin all the elaborately decorated floats and leave Kris Kringle a sopping mess. Eventually, someone from the journal arrives to break the disappointing news to the kids.

The parade can't happen. Not today. Soap to the bone, these families make the best of their situation. They dry off by visiting the shops in downtown Knoxville. The children's disappointment is assuaged by the well-stocked stores all decked out for Christmas, be that clothes, shoes, makeup, toys, or most anything else these kids or parents might have on their Christmas lists. Ah, no wonder these shops are co-sponsors of the Santa Parade.

They're hoping the jolly old elf can drum up some jolly old business. Even with the cancelled parade, it looks like that's a solid bet. But none of this is to say the parade is off for good. Santa doesn't give up that easily. The following morning, Saturday, Knoxville families open their Knoxville journals to find a letter to the public from Santa, published on the front page. It reads in part To the boys and girls in East Tennessee Did you think I had forgotten you when you waited and waited for me yesterday and I didn't come? When you heard from me last my fleet-footed reindeer were carrying me ever so swiftly toward Knoxville But alas misfortune was in our path

The fates were against us when we arrived in the interior of the United States, such rain as I have never before seen. Oh yes, I guess it has rained just as hard on many a Christmas Eve, but on that magic night of nights, my reindeer travel far above the earth and care not for the muddy land and deep waters which are miles below. But traveling on land is different. When we were within a few hundred miles of Knoxville, the mud grew deeper and it was with much effort that the reindeer were able to travel at all. They courageously plodded on, though almost completely exhausted, until we came to a great

river which was far out of bounds. The bridge was many, many feet beneath the swift waters, and we had no means of getting across. As I write this message to you, the waters of this great river are fast receding. I know right now just who stood there waiting for me yesterday, and I know that every one of you will be right there when I come along today. I can promise you right now that this is going to be the very finest Christmas that you ever had. Santa Claus. I can only imagine the beaming faces of Knoxville children sitting around

the breakfast table as a parent reads this letter aloud. I bet the kids are eating fast. It's time to head downtown again to see the bearded old man himself. to head downtown again to see the bearded old man himself. It's now just before noon, Saturday, December 1st, 1928. 24 hours exactly since we were last here on Knoxville's Gay Street. But no rain is falling today. Nope, the weather has cleared up and the ranks of Santa seekers have only swelled. Frankly, this might just be the largest crowd Knoxville's seen since Armistice Day. People of all ages are pressed together on the sidewalks, and more are hanging from their

windows along the parade route. The marshal leads the way. Right behind him are motorcycle policemen, perhaps led by the city's tall, blonde, and handsome police chief, Edward Haynes. They're followed by a group that we would expect to see at any city parade anywhere in the nation, local school marching bands. These include Knoxville High School and, farther down the line, Boyd Jr., whose band teacher, Fred DeRoberts, composed the Santa Claus March just for today. Sponsoring department stores participate as well,

with floats depicting beloved characters from fairy tales, such as old mother Goose, Humpty Dumpty, Jack and Jill, and others. It all adds to this Christmas spectacle. But as much as the children enjoy the motorcycles, bands, and floats, their faces truly light up when that deep iconic laugh cuts through the brass music and cheers.

Yes, it's the jolly bearded old elf himself, Santa Claus. And Mrs. Claus is with him, as is their pet dog. Seated in a tall wheeled sleigh, held by four antlerless Alaskan reindeer, Santa greets the crowd as he passes by. It's a very merry sight indeed. The kids loved the Santa Parade. All of it. And we know that from the testimonials in the following day's Knoxville Journal. Five-year-old Paul Pless adores, quote, "...that big dog that was in Santi's sleigh, as big as the reindeers themselves," close

quote. Six-year-old Herbert Franklin reports that, Me, I liked everything in it that was toys, but Humpty Dumpty especially. Old Humpty Egg was shaped so funny. But that said, seven-year-old Lutrilla Perky has notes for the organizers about Santa's hornless reindeer, even if she liked the rest. She says, quote, They ought to have horns, but I liked it all great, especially little Betty Blue who lost her pretty shoe. I was Betty in a play once, close quote. Of course you were a Lutrilla, and I'm sure you were a great Betty.

While I'm also sure the Knoxville Journal and its co-sponsors, that is, local stores, were pleased to bring such joy to the kids. These shops were just as pleased to see a little commercial Christmas cheer in their registers. Following the parade, Santa personally called on a bunch of these stores over the course of the day, checking their stocks of holiday goods. The kids followed him. Mom and dad were exposed to various gift ideas, and well, I think you

can connect the dots from there. After the parade-induced craze dies down, several local department store proprietors make their way down to the Knoxville Journal to thank the newspaper personally for their organizational efforts. One local business owner remarks that, "...it did more to stimulate Christmas buying than anything which has ever been attempted here." Another reports, that, it did more to stimulate Christmas buying than anything which has ever been attempted here. Another reports, I am tickled to death over the success of the whole affair.

There have been people in our store today who have never been in it before. Given the parade's great emotional and commercial success, I'm sure you're not surprised to hear that they decide that the parade should be repeated next year. And after enough years, well, it turns into a Knoxville tradition, one that, like Santa parades in various cities across the United States, will endure into the 21st century. From Herbert Hoover's Invisible Guest Dinner to Calvin Coolidge's Electric Illumination to the Holyoke Choir's Charming Carols in Knoxville's Santa Parade. America of the 1920s has its share of Christmas magic. Magic that we will hope transcends the leaner Christmases

to come. But those Christmases of the Great Depression are a tale for another day. For now, as we close out the 1920s while listening in the 2020s, I wish you the merriest of roaring 20s Christmases and the happiest of Fitzgerald-esque holidays. History That Doesn't Suck is created and hosted by me, Greg Jackson. Episode researched and written by Greg Jackson and Ella Hendrickson. Hollyoak Student, read by Riley Newbauer. Production by Airship. Sound design by Molly Bach. Theme music composed by Greg Jackson.

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And a special thanks to our members whose monthly gift puts them at producer status. Andy Thompson, Anthony Pizzullo, Art Lane, Beth Chris Jansen, Bob Drazovich, Brian Goodson, Bronwyn Cohen, Kerry Begall, Charles and Shirley Clandenon, Charlie Magis, Chloe Tripp, Christopher Merchant, Christopher Pullman, David DeFazio, David Rifkin, Denki, Durante Spencer, Donald Moore, Donna Marie Jeffcoat, Ellen Stewart, Bernie Lowe, George Sherwood, Gurwith Griffin, Henry Brungis, Jake Gilbreth, James G. Bledsoe, Janey McCreary, Jeff Marks, Jennifer Moods, Jennifer Magnolia, Jeremy Wells, Jessica Poppock, Joe Dobis, John Frugal Dougal, John Booty, John Keller, John Oligaros, John Ridleybich, John Schaeffer, John Schaff, Jordan Corbett, Joshua Steiner, Justin M. Spriggs,

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