The Way I Heard It with Mike Rowe - 65: A Full Figured Gal

Episode Date: July 11, 2017

She had tons of suitors because men knew that with her - anything was possible.

This is the way I heard it. Libby was a tall drink of water, no two ways about it. A statuesque, full-figured gal who was in the words of Rogers and Hammerstein, broad where a broad should be broad. Beyond her classic beauty, though, Libby possessed another quality that most men found irresistible. A quality that suggested anything might be possible with a girl like her. Fred conceived Libby 20 years ago,

and though her mom was never really in the picture, it would be unfair to call Fred a single parent. Fred loved his little girl as much as any father could love a daughter, but it was Gus who actually raised her. And now Fred and Gus were trying to arrange a marriage, searching the world for a man who would put Libby on a pedestal. For a time, it seemed like that man would be the governor of Egypt. Ismail Pasha was handsome, charming, and clearly enamored of Libby. He said all the right things and promised to build her a fabulous home right there at the entrance of the newly completed Suez Canal. Fred was delighted.

Obviously, Ismail was a Muslim, but Libby didn't care about that. In fact, it was agreed that Libby would wear a veil in public, if doing so would please him. But after two years of course, courtship, it became clear that Egypt was not the right place for a woman like Libby. For her part, Libby took the rejection in stride. But Fred was beside himself. He had wasted two years with Ismail, and his little girl wasn't getting any younger.

So Fred and Libby sailed to America to find a more suitable suitor. There, to everyone's surprise and delight, the mayor of Baltimore proposed. as did the mayor of Boston, the mayor of Philadelphia, and the mayor of San Francisco. American mayors, it seemed, had a thing for full-bodied gals who radiated possibility. But ultimately, it was a Hungarian Jew who persuaded Fred that New York City was the only sensible place for his daughter to call home. At a glance, Joe was not an obvious match. a slender man. He was once described as too scrawny for manual labor. And next to Libby, Joe looked like a kid. But Joe knew exactly what he liked and precisely how to get it.

Back in Missouri, as a reporter for the St. Louis Post, he had worked hard, saved his money, and eventually bought the entire newspaper. Then he bought the St. Louis Dispatch. Then he moved to Manhattan, where he bought a newspaper called The World. That's where Joe first laid eyes on Fred's daughter. And that's when he proclaimed on the front page of his own newspaper that Libby would stay with him in New York City. Again, Fred was positively delighted. Obviously, Joe was a foreigner, but Libby didn't care about that. There was only one problem.

when Fred told Joe that he and Gus wanted to see Libby on a pedestal, he wasn't talking in metaphors. He was talking about an actual pedestal, one that would cost the city of New York, no less, than $250,000. That's the equivalent of $6 million today. Sadly, Joe didn't have that kind of cash lying around, but Joe was a man who knew exactly what he liked. and precisely how to get it. So, 150 years before crowdfunding was even a thing, the former journalist from Hungary turned his newspaper into a GoFundMe page and challenged his readers

to help him keep Libby in New York City. Philip and Ezra Bender were among the first to contribute with 50 cents each. Joe printed their names along with his thanks right there on the front page next to a photo. next to a photo of Libby. Their kids pitched in as well, so Joe printed their names, too. Anna, 25 cents.

Franny, 25 cents. Leonard, 10 cents. Frank, 15 cents. Alice, 10 cents. Ralph, 10 cents. Carrie, 10 cents. And Miss Nicey, also good for 25 cents. All in all, the benders kicked in $2.30.

And everyone read all about it. Soon, hundreds of New Yorkers began donating their pocket change. Street sweepers, carriage drivers, stone masons, housewives, ordinary men and women with only pennies to spare. Anyone who donated saw their name in the newspaper next to an image of Libby. Within months, the necessary funds were in hand, and soon after that, on a place called Bledso Island, construction began on a mighty pedestal, a pedestal sturdy enough to support the full-figured gal that Joe was determined to keep in the big apple, the 400,000-pound, 151-foot statue called Libertas. Frederick Bartoldi conceived her and gave her a name. Gustav Eiffel raised her and gave her a frame. But it was an immigrant from Hungary who gave the lady from France a place to stand.

Without Joe, Libby would be in somebody else's harbor. Philadelphia is probably, or maybe Baltimore's, or maybe in somebody else's country. She almost wound up behind a veil, standing at the mouth of the Suez Canal, dressed in the robes of an Arab peasant. Instead, she stands at the foot of Manhattan, where she welcomes the table's the table. tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free. It's funny, an immigrant, famous today for the prizes still bestowed in his name, is largely forgotten for his greatest gift, a Kickstarter campaign that kept our favorite lady

right where she belongs, thanks to thousands of New Yorkers with pocket change and a man named Joe Pulitzer, we can say that once upon a time America put liberty on a pedestal. Anyway, that's the way I heard it.