History That Doesn't Suck - 175: The Dirty Thirties (The New Deal pt. 2): Dust, Doubts, and the “Second” New Deal

Episode Date: March 10, 2025

“I saw and approached the hungry and desperate mother, as if drawn by a magnet.” This is the story of FDR’s first term after facing down the initial emergency.  100 days down, about 1,300 more to go—for this term at least. After the whirlwind of new bills and “alphabet agencies” (AAA, CCC, etc.), the nation is adjusting to and examining FDR’s New Deal. As they do, the NIRA is upsetting both ends of the spectrum: company owners don’t love the Blue Eagle and regulations while workers are frustrated that their employers aren’t eager to see unionization in accordance with section 7(a).  Meanwhile, back at the farm, devastating dust storms like “Black Sunday” are hammering the Great Plains and forcing many to flee to other states. Some migrants end up in California, where unionized dock workers and police are duking it out in San Francisco's “Bloody Thursday.” The president tries to set an example as a “Good Neighbor” in the Caribbean even as people erect signs that read, “Okie, go back. We don’t want you.”  More time and a “Second” New Deal that is more progressive and Keynesian raises more serious questions: Is this really the correct economic course for recovery? And are some of these presidential actions even Constitutional? But despite the detractors, the decisive 1936 election proves that FDR is here to stay.  ____ 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] To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

I've got this condition where I don't feel pain. You're a superhero. No. This is how intense Nova Kane sounds. Oh, wow. Imagine how it looks. Is there more? Yeah, big time.

Nova Kane, Pullman Theaters, March 14th. The truth is, no one does it alone. And why would you want to? We all need someone to make us believe. Hashtag, you got this. 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 seven-day free trial today at HTTDSpodcast.com slash membership or click the link in the episode notes. It's a hot, humid, and early morning, May 23, 1934. We're about five miles south of Mount Lebanon in the northwestern region of Louisiana, where six lawmen, four Texans and two local Louisianans, are hiding among the thick oaks and evergreens on the eastern side of the north and southbound sales highway. All of

them are lying low, swatting mosquitoes and trying to avoid the sharp briars poking through their sweat-stained suits as they keep their eyes on the road, with the occasional glance at their high-powered rifles and other guns, of course. And just across the road is a Ford Model A logging truck. It's jacked up with its front right tire removed. The truck doesn't really have a flat though. It's merely a distraction. One intended to slow or stop the most dangerous law-skirting couple in the nation, the infamous

Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow. You know what? Let's lead the officers to their mosquitoes for a moment. I need to fill you in on how we got here. It's not a stretch to say that Bonnie and Clyde are public enemy number one, at least regionally, if not across the United States. In the four years since they first met in 1930, they and their gang have robbed a string of banks, gas stations, and grocery stores across several states, from the Midwest to the Southwest, all while lifting any automobiles needed.

They also have a tendency to shoot first and ask questions. Well, never. At this point, they're believed to have murdered 13 people, the vast majority being officers of the law. But the gang is also falling apart. Clyde's older brother, Buck, is dead. Two others are in jail. As for Henry Medvin, he got separated from Bonnie and Clyde just a few days ago when they stopped for food at the Majestic Cafe in Shreveport. A patrol car pulled up to the cafe as Henry was getting food and Clyde drove off with Bonnie.

And that separation is precisely what brings us to today. See, the gang had previously agreed that, if separated, they would meet along this stretch of the long and quiet sales highway and Henry's father, Ivan Medvin, not only knows that but is looking to make a deal to save his son from the law. Or has law enforcement forced Ivan's hand? Sources conflict, but either way, that deal is why this motley crew of officers, led by semi-retired Texas Ranger Frank Hamer, are aware of the impending meetup. As of yesterday, they have been hiding along this highway on an elevated spot that lets

them see well down the road in both directions. And they're using Ivan. His truck is the one parked just across the highway from them with a false flat. The hope is that Bonnie and Clyde will stop for Ivan, and when they do, the order is, shoot to kill. Well, that gets you up to speed. Let's rejoin the officers, shall we? It's now just past 9 a.m. The six lawmen are hot, sweaty, dirty, uncomfortable, and are starting to have their doubts. But then they hear a car. A car that's coming fast.

And only one driver on earth would push a car's engine like that on a dirt road like this. It's got to be Clyde. As the officers listen to this car coming ever closer, the two Louisianans, Henderson Jordan and Prentice Oakley speculate on taking Bonnie and Clyde alive. The Texans quickly dismiss the idea. One of them answers, ain't no way that boy's going to give up. He's done shot his way out of a dozen battles. He ain't doing it again. Everyone knows this officer is right. The duo has mowed down so many cops. Word has it they have hand grenades.

Yeah, they won't be taking chances. Dallas County Deputy Bob Alcorn stares down the road through his binoculars. Just then he sees a tan Ford Deluxe V8 speeding into view. It's racing past a truck driving the same way. The deputy knows that fits their stolen car's description and announces, It's him boys. This is it. It's Clyde.

At 9.15am Bonnie and Clyde slow as they approach Ivan's Model A. But sources conflict at this point. Does Ivan talk to them, then wrap his arms around his middle and back into the woods as a sign to the officers? Is Ivan in fact tied to a tree? Does Clyde actually bring his car to a stop or merely slow down? Does an officer yell, halt? Future accounts will variously claim all of the above, but regardless of those details, what we do know is that, as yet another logging truck innocently drives upon the scene, the robbers and lawmen notice each other in some fashion as Bonnie lets out a ferocious roar.

But not as ferocious as the roar of the officer's high powered rifles. The nearby truck comes to a screeching halt as the officers blast Bonnie and Clyde's Ford. Deputy Ted Hinton drops his empty rifle and grabs his shotgun, unloading five rounds of double-op buckshot at the back of the car, after which he uses a handgun while nearly stepping into his fellow officer's line of fire. But finally, it's over.

The shot-up V-8 rolls 50, maybe 100 yards down the hill, then comes to a stop at an embankment. Slowly approaching the bullet-ridden vehicle with guns drawn, the officers find its occupants slumped over. Both are covered in blood. bullet-ridden vehicle with guns drawn, the officers find its occupants slumped over. Both are covered in blood. Clyde has a shotgun on either side of him. Bonnie's mouth is torn apart. The strawberry blonde, 85 pound woman's dainty right hand is missing several fingers. Deputy Hinton grabs a 16mm camera to document the scene. And it needs documentation.

This feels impossible. Bonnie and Clyde are dead. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. Bonnie was right about how she and Clyde would meet their end. Two weeks before the police put 167 bullet holes in their car and quite a few through them as well. Bonnie gave her mother one of her poems. It concludes like this. Someday they'll go down together.

They'll bury them side by side. To few it'll be grief, to the law a relief. But it's death for Bonnie and Clyde. Precient. What Bonnie likely didn't fully appreciate, however, was just how thoroughly she and Clyde would go down as legendary outlaws, like Jesse James, Billy the Kid, Al Capone, and the many others we've met on HTTS.

The effect of the Depression-era Jesse James emulating couple is made clear as their deaths are splashed across the news and over 10,000 spectators come to offer their respects at their funeral. But today's tale isn't about Bonnie and Clyde. It's about the world they lived in. After living through Franklin Roosevelt's extraordinarily busy first 100 days as president in the last episode, today we're going to follow the rest of Franklin's first term and see how all of that early New Deal legislation and its many letter-laden agencies are working out.

And oh, this will keep us busy. First, we'll find that both capital and labor have their vastly different issues with the National Industrial Recovery Act, as the prior thinks it's too much and the latter thinks it isn't enough. Some cities, like San Francisco, will grind to a halt with strikes even as the President is in the Caribbean busy with his good neighbor foreign policy. From there, we're off to America's heartland, which is choking in the midst of terrible dust storms. Economically wrecking dust storms, that is.

We'll join a couple of teenagers as they barely survive one of the biggest dusters of the decade. By this point, we'll be in 1935 and see FDR roll out what historians like to call his second New Deal. Think Bigger, Bolder, and Keynesian. And don't worry, I'll explain that term later. The second New Deal includes Social Security and a nearly $5 billion appropriation bill funding all sorts of programs and public works, including the work of a photographer who will take one of the most iconic photos of the decade, if

not the century. But it will also push questions that the first New Deal was already raising. Specifically, with the worst emergencies over, is FDR using too much executive power? Is his economic course the correct one? And is the New Deal even constitutional? The Supreme Court is not so sure about that last one. Meanwhile, as Franklin leans harder into his New Deal, he's losing friendships and has the heartbreaking displeasure of laying his dear friend and advisor, Louis Howe, to rest.

These losses will only make the President more combative as he looks at a second term and a showdown with SCOTUS. But we won't go there just yet. The first term will keep us plenty busy. We have our path, so let's leave Bonnie's and Clyde's 1934 to return to where we left off last time, at the end of FDR's first 100 days, in June 1933. Rewind. In the summer of 1933, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt heads north for a little relaxation at his beloved Campobello Island. That's right, the Canadian island where he's vacationed since childhood

and where he lost the full use of his legs. Despite that traumatic experience, Campobello remains dear to him, and like everyone involved in the record-setting 15 pieces of major legislation in his first 100 days, FDR deserves a break. Even if he doesn't really need it. Franklin's friend and brain trust advisor, Professor Ray Moley, can't help noticing and admiring FDR's superhuman ability to shoulder responsibility. He'll later recall how, quote, the consciousness of responsibility for the economic well-being of millions of people made mortal inroads on the health of some of us, close quote.

And yet, somehow, to continue quoting the professor, Franklin preserved the air of a man who'd found a happy way of life. But as the months pass and the early New Deal dust of new regulations and programs settles, some Americans are ready to question FDR and this New Deal a bit more. The Great Depression is far from over, true, but with the emergencies past and unemployment going in the right direction. It falls from 15 million to 11 million by the end of 1933. Some are wondering, should Franklin continue exercising more executive power than any peacetime

president ever has? He doesn't seem inclined to slow down, yet many in Congress were questioning their delegation of authority before the 100-day session even ended. To quote Senator Hiram Johnson of California, there is a revolt in the air in the Congress. Men have followed him upstairs without question or criticism. These men have about reached the limit of their endurance. Nor is Congress the only one balking now that the emergencies are over. Employers aren't loving the National Industrial Recovery Act, or NERA. As you may

recall from the last episode, Franklin signed the NERA into law at the end of his 100 days on June 16, 1933. And one of its two major parts was industrial recovery, which General Hugh Johnson is overseeing as the head of the NRA. And as I said last time, that's the National Recovery Administration, not the National Rifle Association. Well, even though the industry codes are put together by members of that industry in an effort to make it self-regulation. Even though Hugh Johnson says that, I want to avoid even the smallest semblance of czarism,

and talks like the whole program is voluntary. Many employers aren't buying it. They can't help but see that blue eagle Hugh's giving NRA code compliant companies to display as a pretty hard twist of the arm for something that's voluntary. Meanwhile, as Henry Ford refuses to agree to auto industry codes and rock the blue eagle symbol, the NRA leading general calls for the American people

and the federal government to boycott Ford Motors. Hugh makes this stance clear to an audience in St. Louis when he tells them, "'Those who are not with us are against us, and the way to show that you are a part of this great army of the New Deal is to insist on this symbol of solidarity.'" Whew! On the opposite end of the spectrum, employees are disappointed to find that NERA doesn't have more teeth. I'll remind you that Section 7A of that law stipulates, quote, that employees shall

have the right to organize and bargain collectively, close quote. Now, John Lewis loves this. The decades-long serving United Mine Workers of America president, whom we met during West Virginia's mine wars in episode 153, calls the NERA the best thing since Abraham Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation, and soon has his men preaching at rallies that, "...the president wants you to unionize." Ah, but the legislation doesn't really say how 7A will get enforced, and without consequences, it's weak. So is Franklin not going far enough?

Muckraking socialist and author of The Jungle, Upton Sinclair, thinks so, declaring, Capitalism has served its time and is passing from the face of the earth. A new system must be found to take its place. Meanwhile, labor has its own internal problems. The rather old school American Federation of Labor isn't so sure about organizing the nation's rising mass production industries, which would put workers of varying skill levels at the same company under the same union. For now, the AFL is trying to hold to its craft model, which organizes workers by their

specific craft regardless of their place of employment. The AFL's reluctance to change is inhibiting unionization. In short, capital and labor are at each other's throats. Labor has its own internal problems, and through it all, General Hugh Johnson is struggling to navigate the NRA through these narrow waters. And in these conditions, San Francisco's frustrated dock workers decide that they'll settle things the old-fashioned way.

It's about 8 in the morning, Thursday, July 5, 1934, and a crowd of some 5,000 picketers has gathered at Pier 30 along the Embarcadero in San Francisco, California. The throng is surprisingly silent, yet the air is as tense as the summer's heat. These men are longshoremen, or dock workers, and have been striking for nearly two months with hopes of improved working conditions, union recognition, and a coast-wide contract. Conversely, their employers feel that they've made good faith efforts to meet the longshoremen halfway. Through it all, there have been plenty of fights and things got particularly rough with

the police and strikebreakers two days ago. Yesterday was calm as the port closed for the 4th of July. But today, with a state-owned beltline determined to deliver perishable cargo to a ship scheduled to sail out of San Francisco this afternoon, well, it could hardly be more tense. The Strikers look on as a Beltline locomotive with two train cars slowly rolls toward Pier 30. A policeman hollers, move back! But this crowd is tired of being ignored, and if they have to fight, they'd rather it be now, not later, given the rumors that the National Guard is on its way. The Strikers refuse to budge as the locomotive continues forward. Then, as the police draw closer and closer to these resolute longshoremen, it happens. Throwing rocks and bricks, thousands of picketers charge straight at the thousand-strong police

force. Overwhelmed, the cops fall back. The strikers turn rioters, then surround the train cars and set them on fire. As firemen fight the flames, police turn hoses on the crowd. They drive these combative working men to the nearby neighborhood of Rincon Hill. And by 10am, it's a full-scale battle between the swarming, numerous but ill-armed strikers and the gun-wielding club-bearing police who turn to tear gas to try to keep the casualties down. Soon the dry grass on

the hillsides is set aflame. The strikers retreat to their Union Hall on Stewart Street. As thousands gather there, the police make a pincer movement between the streets of Howard and Mission. Rocks and bricks continue to fly. Two men try to flip a police car, and as they do, officers fire. By the day's end, there are scores of wounded men, police and strikers alike, and two deaths. Great War vet and member of the ILA Local, Harry Sperry, and strikers alike, and two deaths. Great War vet and member of the ILA Local, Harry Sperry, and Communist Party member, Nick Bordeaux. Both were shot by officers.

With Governor Frank Miriam calling on the National Guard, the violence ends, but this battle of Rincon Hill, or Bloody Thursday as it will be remembered, only inspires more pushback as 130,000 San Franciscans from various unions start a general strike in solidarity with the longshoremen. The city grinds to a virtual stop. The striking doesn't stay on the west coast either. Both Toledo, Ohio, and Minneapolis, Minnesota see strikes that leave a handful of dead while some 2,000 separate strikes play out across the nation.

Honestly, some fear a revolution is coming. And what's more, Franklin isn't in the country as this goes down. He's at sea being a good neighbor. Ah yes, Franklin's good neighbor policy. The term comes from his inaugural address in which FDR said, In the field of world policy, I would dedicate this nation to the policy of the good neighbor. The neighbor who resolutely respects himself and, because he does so, respects the rights of others.

It's actually an indirect slam on Germany's and Japan's saber rattling, but Franklin truly intends to be a good neighbor to Latin America by dialing back military intervention. That's why, on the very same July 5th that San Francisco knows as Bloody Thursday, Franklin is in Haiti pledging a full withdrawal at the month's end of the U.S. Marines that have been stationed there since the Wilson administration, as you may remember from episode 127. From there, the President sails to Panama, where he strengthens ties with this crucial

nation and passes through the U.S.-operated canal. He then becomes the first sitting president to visit Hawaii, where 60,000 guests show up for a luau and, more importantly, Franklin tours the naval facility at Pearl Harbor. Meanwhile, Franklin's general foreign policy is moving toward internationalism as his administration recognizes the USSR. FDR returns to the continental U.S. via San Francisco. He could have arrived while the strike was still playing out but thought better of it, which was politically savvy.

As Louis Howe explains, arriving mid-strike would have, "...put the president right in the middle of an obligation to settle whatever is wrong out there." Instead, FDR fishes in the Pacific and per his sanguine expectations, soon hears that both sides are backing down and submitting to binding arbitration. The ports of the West Coast are back to work as of July 27th. Well played, Franklin. It sounds like the President will need more permanent fixes to work out that near a Section 7A bug in the long run, but for now, he's dodged this Labor v. Capitol issue.

Nor have these labor issues and ongoing use of his expanded executive powers cost him the trust of the American people, who only send more Democrats to Congress in the 1934 midterms. Republican newspaper editor William Allen White gives the credit, or blame if you prefer, to Franklin, stating, He has been all but crowned by the people. Strikes, international relations, midterm elections, and a less severe but persistent Great Depression aren't the only things that Franklin faces in the first half of his first

term. In the southern plains of the United States, parts of Colorado, Kansas, New Mexico, Oklahoma, and Texas, the same drought that ravaged the south and launched a series of bank failures back in episode 172 remains ongoing. It's the result of a terrible combination of man-made and natural factors. For years, countless farmers across the Southern Plains have been tearing up deep-rooted grasses to make room for more crops. That, mixed with the 1930s' unnaturally hot,

drought-causing weather, has wreaked all sorts of climate havoc, including strong winds whipping up dry and loose topsoil into enormous apocalyptic-like dust storms. During these years, the Dirty 30s, there are several episodes of dust flying into the air and crashing down on homes, schools, and increasingly desperate people. Like on May 9th, 1934, when high winds grab hold of 350 million tons of topsoil and carries it so far that 12 tons falls on Chicago.

Yeah, it's a years-long, dirt-filled nightmare. But as bad as that May storm is, it's nothing compared to Black Sunday. It's about four in the afternoon, Sunday, April 14, 1935. Ike Osteen, his best friend Tex Aker, yes, that's his real name, and a local girl named Pearl Glover are driving down a dusty road near the town of Walsh in Baca County, Colorado, about 30 miles north of the Oklahoma Panhandle. After church this Easter morning and some Sunday dinner at their homes, these three ranching high school seniors are heading into town, as Ike puts it, for another

week of school. I can only imagine the conversation the three of them are having. Are they talking about teachers, classes, maybe their crushes? Or in these oddly dusty times, is Ike telling them about how he had to dig out his family's dust-covered fruit seller and outhouse. Well, whatever their topic of conversation is, there are few better ways to de-stress and enjoy good friends than the open road, especially in a Model A Ford. But as they drive across this wide, flat, dust-scarred landscape, Ike takes note of a huge dust cloud coming from the north. Not too concerning

just yet, not for dust storm veterans like these teens. But then Ike notices jackrabbits sprinting south and the panicked birds screeching past his car. He turns to Tex and says, looks like it's going to be a booger. If only Ike knew. Birds fill the sky. The air seems to pulsate with static, so much so that as Tex merely touches Ike, a powerful jolt throws him backwards as though he'd touched a power line. Okay, this is bad. Tex hollers at Ike, pull over! Let's make for that house up ahead!

With swirling dust literally blotting out the afternoon sun, the three teenagers desperately race for the nearest shelter. A farmhouse owned by Elmer Coulter. The Coulter family sees the terrified teens and shouts to them, Coulter's father, Coulter, says, Coulter's father, Coulter, says, Coulter's father, Coulter, says, Coulter's father, Coulter, says, Coulter's father, Coulter, says,

Coulter's father, Coulter, says, Coulter's father, Coulter, says, Coulter's father, Coulter, says, Coulter's father, Coulter, says, Coulter's father, Coulter, says, Coulter's father, Coulter, says, Coulter's father, Coulter, says, Coulter's father, Coulter, says the outstretched arms of the Coulters, only to be overcome and thrown to the ground by the elements. Oiling dust whips through the air. It scrapes, blinds, and strangles the teenagers, who can hardly tell up from down as they crawl

and claw in the direction of the no longer visible farmhouse. Once they get close enough, the cultures reach out, hold the teens inside and slam the door shut. Elmer lights a kerosene lamp. It's still pitch black inside. The air is filled with dust. They all gather together with towels over their heads to keep the dust from their eyes and lungs. As they do, Ike can hear Tex and Pearl breathing, but can't see them. The only thing in the world is dust. At Desjardins, we speak business. We speak equipment modernization.

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I'm your host, Lisa LaFlamme. Carry the Fire, a podcast by the Princess Margaret Cancer Foundation featuring inspiring personal stories about what happens when world leading doctors, nurses, researchers, and their patients come together to ignite breakthroughs. Carry the Fire launches Monday, January 27th, wherever you get your podcasts. Are you crushing your bills? Defeating your monthly payments.

Sounds like you're at the top of your financial game. Rise to it with the BMO Eclipse Rise Visa Card, the credit card that rewards your good financial habits. Earn points for paying your credit card bill in full and on time every month. Level up from bill payer to reward slayer. Terms and conditions apply. 200 miles wide and moving at 65 miles an hour, April 14, 1935's Black Sunday Duster ends for Ike and his friends about two hours later.

But the sweeping storm doesn't stop in Colorado. It scars the whole of the Southern Plains. In Boyce City, Oklahoma, Associated Press reporter Robert Geiger writes the next day, Three little words, achingly familiar on a Western farmer's tongue, rule life today in the Dust Bowl of the continent, if it rains. Like his photographer Harry Eisenhardt's photo of their car ominously parked in front of a black swirling tidal wave of dust, Robert's phrase, the dust bowl, sweeps the world. But Black Sunday doesn't only produce the go-to term for describing the Southern Plains

miseries of the 1930s. It leaves casualties. The fast-flying dust leaves Oklahoma homesteader Thomas Jefferson Johnson blind. A small boy in Hays, Kansas suffocates to death. His body is found the next day. Dust-filled lungs or dust pneumonia as it's known plagues survivors. People cope as they can. For 22-year-old itinerant songwriter Woody Guthrie, who weathered Black Sunday hold up in a house in Pampa, Texas, the miseries inspire his song, So Long, It's Been Good to Know Ya.

It aptly summarizes the feelings of many enduring the Dust Bowl. To quote it, So long, it's been good to know ya. This dusty old dust is a git in my home, and I got to be driftin' along." Almost a quarter million people do drift along to get away from the Dust Bowl. But don't let John Steinbeck's novel, The Grapes of Wrath, make you think that all of Oklahoma is forced to abandon their homes for the green fields of California. First, most in the Southern Plains stay. Second, those who do leave, while almost all tenant farmers, go many different directions, not just to the Golden State.

In fact, of the quarter million who do flee the Dust Bowl, only about 16,000 are California bound. But between widespread newspaper coverage and later books, like Steinbeck's much-celebrated The Grapes of Wrath, the Okies and Arkies, as these dustbowl fleeing migrant workers are derogatorily called, become a greatly exaggerated presence and imagined nuisance in the minds of many Californians. Indeed, signs pop up across the Central Valley letting them know just how unwelcome they are. One reads, Oki, go back, we don't want you. And where does the New Deal factor into this dusty catastrophe? Well, under the newly created Agricultural Adjustment Administration we learned about in the last episode, the drought relief service

provides some help. For instance, it buys thirsty and dying cattle from the region's farmers. But more help is coming through a second New Deal. Historians like to use the term second New Deal to describe FDR's work starting in 1935 because this is when the President rolls out a more progressive agenda and embraces a new economic idea asserting that the Great Depression's seemingly endless downturn is due to underconsumption. Advocates of this position argue that government spending, even at a deficit, can serve as

a deliberate tool to stabilize the economy. This fits with what British economist John Maynard Keynes is thinking at this time. Next year, his magnum opus, the general theory of employment, will argue that unemployment is due to insufficient total demand, or aggregate demand, and that when private consumption and investment fall short, government spending can fill that demand gap. We will later call this Keynesianism. that demand gap. We will later call this Keynesianism. Now FDR is not getting his ideas from the Brit, but the term is spot on. As historian Joseph A. McCartan succinctly explains, quote, legislation launched in 1935, often termed the second New Deal, attempted to build purchasing power among the unemployed, industrial workers, the elderly, and others.

This demand-side approach represented a departure in fiscal policy, inaugurating what became the Keynesian Revolution in the U.S. political economy." What does this look like? Some second New Deal examples include the Public Utility Holding Company Act, which breaks up the nation's dominating 13 utility companies, the Revenue Act of 1935, better known as the Wealth Tax since its progressive tax structure goes up to 75% on the nation's highest earning individuals, and we have a Banking Act that strengthens the Federal Reserve Board.

Perhaps the most visibly enduring piece of legislation in the second New Deal, however, is the Social Security Act of 1935. Franklin is far from the first to envision a government program offering unemployment insurance and pensions for the elderly, but his scale of vision is grander. He tells Labor Secretary Francis Perkins, There is no reason why everybody in the United States should not be covered. Every child from the day he is born, when he begins to grow up, he should know he will have old age benefits direct from the insurance system to which he will belong all his life.

If he is out of work, he gets a benefit. If he is sick or crippled, he gets a benefit. If he is sick or crippled, he gets a benefit. Yes, true to form, Franklin will dream big while leaving it to Francis to figure out the details. Two major questions arise. First, is this constitutional? With a nod from an in-the-loop Supreme Court justice, it's determined that it is through Congress's ability to tax. Second, how can the nation pay for this immediately? See, as that quote I just read indicates, FDR envisions the American people paying into it like an insurance plan, arguing that this keeps it from being a charity.

But that doesn't help today's retirees who didn't have a chance to buy in. The only way to fund immediate pensions, then, is by embracing general taxes carrying them and deficit spending. This isn't the President's preference, but beyond his own initiative, Franklin feels some pressure from other proposals. Louisiana's larger-than-life Senator, Huey the Kingfish Long, is pushing his Share Our Wealth plan, which calls for a wealth tax that more or less straight confiscates all fortunes of 8 million or more. California's broadcasting doctor, Francis Townsend, is likewise pitching a less than

sound retiree pension plan that nonetheless is appealing to the public. At the same time, Father Charles Coughlin is also using the radio to attack the Keynesian embracing president for being, of all things, too conservative. All that to say, Franklin thinks Congress will have to do something, and compared to these other plans, his payroll taxing insurance model appears the most sound, and in fact, the least radical. In fact, Franklin defends his progressivism by saying, I am fighting communism, Huey Longism, Coughlinism, Townsendism. That summer,

Congress passes Social Security, which will provide unemployment insurance, pensions for the elderly, and support for dependent children. FDR gladly signs it. the elderly and support for dependent children. FDR gladly signs it. The second New Deal's 1935 legislation also includes what Franklin calls the big bill, the Emergency Relief Appropriation Act. It appropriates $4.8 billion. Whew, that is quite the stack of cash, which is no surprise given the United States Keynesian turn in 1935. In accordance with that philosophy, the federal government is fighting unemployment by spending. 525 million goes to drought relief.

Yes, this is the further assistance to Dust Bowl victims I hinted at earlier. New agencies also rise. They include the Rural Electrification Administration, which creates publicly owned electrical cooperatives to electrify rural America, the National Youth Administration, which brings part-time jobs to high school and college students, and the Resettlement Administration, which relocates struggling families. It's in the service of the Resettlement Administration that one photographer ends up taking a picture

that won't just define her career, but the entire Great Depression. It's late in the afternoon on an unspecified day, early March, 1936. Dorothea Lane is in California, about 25 miles south of San Luis Obispo, driving through the rain on Highway 101. And she's exhausted. For the past three months, this thin 39-year-old brown-haired woman has been taking

pictures of California's migrants for the Resettlement Administration. Pictures that her boss and soon-to-be husband, sociologist Dr. Paul Taylor, turns into stories in order to help the resettlement administration better know how to help. But now Dorothea is ready for some rest. Her packed camera bags and several rolls of film ready to be sent to Washington DC are next to her on the passenger seat as she drives on determined to see this road trip through. As she'll later describe it, 65 miles an hour for seven hours would get me home to my family that night and my eyes were glued to the wet and gleaming highway. As she drives, Dorothea notices

a crude wooden arrow with a sign just off the road. It reads, P. Pickers Camp. Now she has more than enough photos, but the passionate professional just can't help herself. 20 miles past, Dorothea makes a u-turn and heads to the camp. Walking with the slight limp Polio bequeathed to her as a child, Dorothea takes in this wet and soggy camp. Two thousand people are living in these canopied hovels. But one thin, dark-haired woman, whose beauty is only exceeded by the strain and worry carried by the premature wrinkles on her face, stands out.

As Dorothea will later recollect, I saw and approached the hungry and desperate mother, as if drawn by a magnet. Pulling out her Graflex camera, she asks the 32-year-old mother of seven with a baby in her arms if she'd permit her to take some photos. The woman agrees. Dorothea takes several, capturing the contradictions of both a personal despondency and the resolute determination of a loving parent to provide that somehow simultaneously appear in the forlorn mother's eyes. Her younger children's faces convey their innocence. An older daughter already wears the countenance of one who understands the desperation of their plight. And still another, two

children bury their faces into their mother's shoulders as she holds the baby and looks out, both distantly and hopelessly. These photographs soon grab national attention. Appearing first on March 10, 1936 in the San Francisco News and on following days with headlines like, What does the New Deal mean to this mother and her child? Federal authorities respond by sending 20,000 pounds of food to the pea picker's camp. But little does anyone know that the woman in this picture, identified decades later as a Cherokee woman from Oklahoma named Florence Thompson, had already taken her small family and left the camp. While Florence and her family will have mixed feelings about the photographs in the years to

come, the impact is extraordinary. One photo, titled Migrant Mother, appears to echo portraits of Mary with the baby Jesus. In it, Florence holds her baby and looks into the distance, as two other children cling, faces hidden to her shoulders. For Dorothea Layne biographer Jan Goggins, the migrant mother, quote, represents a tangible quality, the large vision of perseverance and strength, as well as a dream deferred or altogether denied, close quote. And for countless Americans, this photo becomes the most iconic, singular image of the Great Depression. Yet, to Florence, this was just her austere life.

In her words, we just existed. But funding the decade's most recognizable photo is hardly the extent of the Emergency Relief Appropriation Act. This is an omnibus bill. Backing out from specific agencies to the 30,000-foot view, it provides funds for early New Deal-created programs like the Civilian Conservation Corps and the National Industrial Recovery Act's, or NERA's, Public Works Administration, or PWA. It also funds the second New Deal's Works Progress Administration, or WPA.

These alphabet agencies. Let me break down the difference between these nearly identically named administrations. Led by Interior Secretary Harold Ickes, the nearest PWA undertakes big projects for which companies bid, with the expectation that it will add to the nation's infrastructure while stimulating the economy through government spending. Its projects include New York's Lincoln Tunnel, Triborough Bridge and LaGuardia Airport, Florida's Overseas Highway, San Francisco's Bay Bridge, and in part, the Hoover Dam. Entirely separate is the Emergency Relief Appropriation Act-created Works Progress Administration, again abbreviated as WPA. Effectively, it replaces the first New Deal's Civil Works Administration and Federal Emergency

Relief Administration, or FHRA. Harry Hopkins led both of those, and now this savvy and pushy chain smoker is leading the WPA. It hires 3 million workers in the first year and ultimately more than 8 million who build 500,000 miles of road, construct 100,000 bridges, about 100,000 buildings, like Los Angeles' famous Griffith Observatory, 600 airports, and 8,000 parks. There's friction between the two administrations, but as you may have noticed, the PWA takes bigger projects than the WPA. Additionally, Harry Hopkins has his WPA collect folklore and folk songs, create guidebooks

for the states, and send theater troops to small-town America. These collections include oral histories, such as the Slave Narrative Project, which interviews still-living, formerly enslaved Americans, thereby preserving crucial historical accounts. In short, we could summarize by saying that the PWA and the WPA are a lot of construction, cash, and controversy, with Republicans seeing all of this government funding as political patronage. But as Uncle Sam spins, Franklin's losing friends.

His brain trust leader, speechwriter, and all around great thinker, Professor Ray Moly, has already left. Feeling thrown under the bus by FDR and Secretary of State Cordell Hull after the World Monetary and Economic Conference in London just after the first hundred days and convinced that FDR was already getting too progressive in anti-business. Ray resigned in August 1933. Franklin also loses General Hugh Johnson as the head of the NRA. The General's drinking is just too much. Worse still, Franklin's losing his best friend and closest of advisors.

After a lifetime of inhaling more smoke than air, Louis Howe's been hospitalized since the end of 1935. He still works from Bethesda Naval Hospital, sending his assistant, Margaret Duren, to carry notes to Franklin. But in April 1936, Louis takes his last breath. Breaking from thoughts about his re-election campaign, Franklin says goodbye. It's early morning, April 22nd, 1936. Franklin and Eleanor are on a special train with the Howe family, likewise carrying the body of Louis Howe.

Their destination is Louis' final resting place. His wife graces hometown Fall River, Massachusetts. They travel under a gloomy and gray New England sky. It suits the mood in this somber, taciturn train. At 10am, the train pulls into Fall River's empty station, empty at Franklin's request. A squad of Navy men act as pallbearers and move the casket. Yeah, that's appropriate. Louis was a special assistant to Franklin back when he was the assistant secretary of the Navy. Louis' friends and family climb into private cars.

All along the two-mile route from the station to the cemetery, they're greeted by an unbroken line of thousands standing in silent support. Once at the grave, it's a brief service by Louis's former Episcopal rector, Reverend Dr. Edmund Cleveland. Even the film cameras stop once the prayers begin. All the while, Franklin is silent. The New York Times reports that he appears, quote, oblivious to everything around him, close quote. And who can blame him? From his lows of typhoid, the affair with Lucy Mercer, and contracting polio, to his highs of becoming Governor of New York, then President of the United States, Louis was

always there for Franklin. For 23 years, he stood beside Franklin, his constant cheerleader, yet just as ready to tell him when he was being a quote unquote damned fool right to his face. Yeah, he was one of those rare friends that only comes along a few times at most in life. Once the service is over, Franklin stays at the flower-strewn grave, his head bowed in silence, perhaps a few times at most in life. Once the service is over, Franklin stays at the flower-strewn grave, his head bowed in silence, perhaps thinking to himself

the same words that Louis said before his death. Franklin is on his own now. With tons of free reality shows, you are totally free to watch what you love on Pluto TV. And for me, that's Dance Moms, Bar Rescue, The Challenge, and Jersey Shore. All totally free on Pluto TV. Stream now, pay never. You just realized your business needed to hire someone yesterday.

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your hiring right now with Indeed and listeners of this show will get a $100 sponsored job credit to get your job's more visibility at Indeed.com slash podkatzca. Just go to indeed.com slash podkatzca right now and support our show by saying you heard about indeed on this podcast. Terms and conditions apply. Hiring indeed is all you need. Louis Howe's death doesn't only hit Franklin D. Roosevelt hard as an individual. It hits him hard as a president. He's lost one of the few who knew him intimately as a man immortal, not the strong-willed Commander in Chief.

In other words, Franklin's lost one of a small handful of people, the others being his extremely busy wife Eleanor and Secretary of the Treasury Henry Morgenthau, who are capable of telling him no, of telling him when he's wrong. But there's one institution that doesn't mind telling Franklin no, and I'm not talking about the Republican Party, even as it gears up to run Kansas Governor Al Landon as its 1936 presidential candidate. I'm talking about the Supreme Court, which appears not to be a fan of the New Deal.

It's said no plenty of times by 1936. Let me fill you in. The first big piece of New Deal legislation to face SCOTUS was the National Industrial Recovery Act, again known as NERA, whose National Recovery Administration, or the NRA, was challenged by the Brooklyn-based Schechter Brothers. Yes, this is the agency handing out blue eagles to companies obeying industry-crafted codes, and the chicken-selling Schechter Brothers rejected the new FDR-approved poultry code in 1934. Now, the Schechter brothers were hardly the only businessmen to chafe at these new, unprecedented federal regulations. Henry Ford was still holding out too. But they didn't have the same poll in their industry

or with the public that Henry did, and their violations weren't merely hours worked or wages paid, but health-related. Thus, if the government was going to flex its NRA muscle and end up with a test case, this Brooklyn duo looked like the way to go. As historian H.W. Brands puts it, quote, selling sick chickens was sure

to make these small businessmen less sympathetic as defendants, close quote. The brothers did indeed lose in New York. They then appealed to the U.S. Supreme Court. Representing the federal government, Donald Richburg argued, The NRA law was enacted for the purpose of checking the progressive destruction of industry, to make possible an orderly advance by industry instead of a disorderly retreat. Representing the Schechter brothers, Joseph Heller questioned the justification for the

NERA through the Commerce Clause. How, Joseph pressed, could Congress's power to regulate commerce among the several states as granted in Article I, Section 8 of the Constitution permit that august body to regulate two Brooklyn brothers doing business within the confides of the state of New York. Even progressive justice Louis Brandeis couldn't disagree. And it was a unanimous decision. The court ruled in ALA Schechter Poultry Corporation versus United States that the poultry code was unconstitutional, a ruling that effectively wrecked the hundreds of quote unquote fair competition codes of the NERA's NRA.

Heavily balding but immaculately bearded Chief Justice Charles Evans Hughes wrote in his majority opinion that to rule otherwise would stomp out federalism, quote, "'For all practical purposes, we should have a completely centralized government,' close quote. He further explained that the code violated the separation of powers. To quote the Chief Justice again, Congress is not permitted to abdicate or to transfer to others the essential legislative functions. Undoubtedly, still noncompliant Henry Ford felt vindicated.

That same day, Monday, May 27, 1935, SCOTUS also unanimously ruled against the New Deal in two other cases. The Court shot down a law providing mortgage relief for indebted farmers in Louisville Bank v. Radford. Then, in Humphrey's Executor v. United States, the Court found Franklin in the wrong for firing a member of the Federal Trade Commission, thereby impeding the President's ability to pack his agencies with New Deal believers. Franklin's faithful dubbed this day of triple loss, Black Monday. But as SCOTUS's poultry ruling largely shot down the NERA and effectively killed its blue eagle

loving NRA, Congress answered with a second New Deal piece of legislation that labor loved, the National Labor Relations Act, the NLRA or the Wagner Act, in a nod to Senator Robert Wagner. This guarantees workers, quote, the right to self-organization, to form, join, or assist labor organization, to bargain collectively through representatives of their own choosing,

and to engage in concerted activities for the purpose of collective bargaining or other mutual aid and protection." Basically, it's what the nearest Section 7A promised but didn't deliver. Ah, and remember my earlier statement about the American Federation of Labor dragging its feet on unionizing mass production industries? Well, in 1935, it set up the Committee for Industrial Organization to handle this. Led by United Mine Workers President John Lewis,

it did quickly break off from the AFL as its own independent thing, but regardless, the CIO takes care of hundreds of thousands of workers. And that brings us back to 1936, as SCOTUS continues to tell Franklin, no. That January, the Court rules in United States v. Butler that, as the Tenth Amendment reserves all powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution to the states, the Agricultural Adjustment Act of 1933 has unconstitutionally usurped the state's power to regulate agriculture.

Only weeks after Louis Howe's death, in May, the court strikes down the new, nearest-style wage and price regulating Guffey-Cole Act of 1935. It then rules against a New York state law setting minimum wages for women and children. Even old Herbert Hoover can't support that ruling. The Dust Bowl, displaced migrant workers, an ongoing Great Depression, and now a series of blows from SCOTUS, all while some claim FDR is consorting with communists. Not that the communists will claim him. Franklin's Keynesian ways are still far too conservative for them.

Meanwhile, FDR's former ally, Ray Moley, perfectly articulates the jarring difference between Franklin's view and that of the increasingly incensed business community. To quote him, The president expressed amazement that the capitalists did not understand that he was their savior, the only bulwark between them and revolution. I began to wonder whether Roosevelt had begun to see his program as an end in itself rather than as a means to an end. Whether he wasn't beginning to feel that the proof of a measure's merit was the extent

to which it offended the business community. Whew, sounds like Franklin can't please anyone. But that's not really the case. Many Americans still support the President, even if he's made enemies while learning that simple truth that isn't always so easy to internalize. You can't please everyone. And so, as Franklin hits the campaign trail, the once generally congenial New Yorker has a bit more grit in his cigarette holder clenched teeth. While he won't name names, he's not mincing words either.

It's the night of October 31st, 1936. Yes, Halloween. And for FDR supporters, there's no trick, only treats, as more than 20,000 of them have packed themselves into the capacity-filled Madison Square Garden, and thousands more stand outside between 8th Avenue and 50th, listening via the loud amplifiers blaring inside the stadium. That's right, 8th and 50th, the much larger arena acting as Billy Joel's second home on 8th and 33rd won't be built until 1968.

Anyhow, the crowd goes crazy as the President enters. They greet Franklin, Eleanor, their daughter Anna, and Franklin's mother Sarah with waving flags and a full 13-minute standing ovation. As the New York Times will report tomorrow, quote, the shouts, hand clapping and cheers of the audience mingled with the noise of ringing cowbells, horns and clackers and ear splitting roars which rose and fell like the sound of waves pounding on the surf. Close quote.

Franklin seizes the podium. This will be his last speech of the 1936 campaign. His last time addressing the public apart from a fireside chat that he'll do the night before Election Day. So this is a last chance to fend off political attacks like those of his former friend and political mentor Al Smith who this very same night is speaking to thousands in Albany accusing Franklin of quote preparing the way for a communist controlled America close quote.

Oh, that chafes. And as the crowd quiets down, the pissed off president elures a most decidedly bare-knuckled speech. Senator Wagner, Governor Lehmann, my friend. On the eve of a national election, it is well for us to stop for a moment and analyze calmly and without prejudice the effects on our nation of a victory by either of the major political parties. The problem of the electorate is far deeper, far more vital than the continuance in the presidency of any individual. The greater issue goes beyond units of humanity, it goes to humanity itself. In 1932, the issue was the restoration of American democracy, and the American people were in a mood to

win. They did win. And in 1936, the issue is the preservation of their victory. Again, The crowd is eating this up. Franklin is taking a victory lap for his first term. Given his current setbacks, this must feel good. But now, it's time to attack. We have not come thus far without a struggle, and I assure you that we cannot go further without a struggle. For 12 years, our nation was afflicted with hear nothing, see nothing, do nothing government. The nation, the nation looked to that government but that government looked away. Nine mocking years with the golden calf and three long years of the surge. Nine crazy years at the ticker and three long years in the breadline. Nine mad years of mirage and three long years of despair.

And my friends, powerful influences strive today to restore that kind of government with its doctrine that that government is best, which is most indifferent to mankind. For nearly four years now, you have had an administration which instead of pulling its thumb has rolled up. We had to struggle with the old enemies of peace, business and financial monopoly, speculation, reckless banking, class antagonism, sectionalism, war profiteering. They had begun to consider the government of the United States as a mere appendage to their own affairs. And we know now that government by organized money is just as dangerous as government by organized mops. Never before in all our history have these forces been so united against one candidate as they stand today. They are unanimous in their hate

for me and I welcome their hatred." Gauntlet thrown and the crowd goes wild. Franklin has to wait several minutes for the audience to finish cheering and stamping their feet. I should like to have it said of my first administration that in it the causes of selfishness and of lust for power met their match. his New Deal policies. But soon comes to a close. Once Franklin does conclude, the band battles against the voices of a 20,000 strong cheering audience. Franklin takes the 1936 election in a landslide. One that makes his 1932 landslide victory over

Burt Hoover look like a close race. Republican Al Landon gets 16 million votes to Franklin's 27 million. But more importantly, Franklin wins 523 electoral votes. That's 46 states, all but two. Vermont and Maine. On the first ever January inauguration day, a change due to the passage of the 20th Amendment back in 1933, which moved the start date of a presidential term from March 4th to January 20th, a freezing downpour seizes Washington, D.C. Franklin is offered an indoor inauguration, but upon hearing of the immense crowd that has gathered, he answers,

If they can take it, I can. Unflinchingly, the partially paralyzed president stands in the ice-cold rainy weather to take his second oath of office. Franklin also takes his overwhelming victory as America's approval of his New Deal agenda. So he plans to continue. In this second inaugural speech, he celebrates improvements and tells the crowd that the nation's progress out of the Depression is obvious. However, he continues,

Have we met the goal of our vision of that fourth day of March 1933? I see one-third of a nation ill-housed, ill-clad, ill-nourished, tens of millions of its citizens, who at this very moment are denied the greater part of what the very lowest standards of today call the necessities of life, trying to live on income so meager that the pall of family disaster hangs over them day by day, denied education, recreation, and the opportunity to better their lot, lacking the means to buy the products of farm and factory. The test of our progress is not whether we add more to the abundance of those who have much, it is whether we provide enough for those who have too little.

Franklin adds, Government is competent when all who compose it work as trustees for the whole people. And he ends by declaring that he will take the solemn obligation of leading the American people forward along the road which they have chosen to advance. Thus we conclude FDR's first term and commence his second. Between this and the last episode, we saw America accept, if not celebrate, the New Deal cross parts and lines in the first 100 days, followed by pushback as emergencies ended and the realities of some of that early legislation really hit. That pushback only grew as FDR embraced Keynesian economics and continued forward with his second

New Deal. But even as he lost friends and constitutional battles with the Supreme Court, Franklin's 1936 victory in 46 out of 48 states tells him that he has the mandate of the American people. Hence Franklin's move, as his biographer Roy Jenkins puts it, quote, from his previous all-inclusiveness to a view that some well-chosen enemies might actually be a help in underpinning the enthusiasm of the majority, close quote. Yet should Franklin make the conservative Charles Evans Hughes-led Supreme Court one

of his well-chosen enemies? Or is the President hubristically overlooking checks and balances? Ugh, if only Louis Howe were here, the one advisor who always seemed to know how and when to tell Franklin if he's being a damned fool. But alas, he's gone, and no one's going to stop FDR from declaring war on SCOTUS.

But that's a story for next time. History That Doesn't Suck is created and hosted by me, Greg Jackson. Episode researched and written by Greg Jackson and the grandson of a Dust Bowl survivor, Will Keen. Production by Airship. Sound design by Molly Bott. Theme music composed by Greg Jackson. Arrangement and additional composition by Lindsey Graham of Airship. For bibliography of all primary and secondary sources consulted and writing this episode, visit HTVspodcast.com.

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