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ADVENTURES

OF A

SLUM

FIGHTER

ADVENTURES

OFA

SLUM

FIGHTER

By Charles F. Palmer

TUPPER AND LOVE, INC.

ATLANTA

COPYRIGHT © 1955, BY CHARLES F. PALMER

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce
this book, or parts thereof, in any form, except
for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
VAN REES PRESS • NEW YORK

To my mother
who gave me a sense of values

and

To my wife
who helped me keep them

A NOTE OF
APPRECIATION

JAMES PUTNAM urged me to share these
adventures and started me off on this book. Pro-
fessor Thomas H. English said write as though
talking with a friend. Miss Hazel Pate loyally typed
the manuscript from my illegible longhand. Albert
Love's keen interest and expert advice helped be-
yond measure. Hal Vermes also aided greatly. To
all of these and to the many others who encouraged
and commented, I am deeply grateful.

ABOUT THIS BOOK

By Beardsley Ruml

ONE OF THE most glaring obstructions to a better
life for millions of our people is the obsolete design and
structure of our cities. Already we are acutely aware that the
conditions of our metropolitan schools, hospitals, transport
and recreation facilities are intolerable. And worst of all are
the slums.

That's why this book interests me so much. It's the author's
adventures in wiping out slums. These are facts, not theories,
because as a practical real-estate man he has done what he
writes about. Reading like a novel, this book proves that
slums cost us taxpayers more to keep than to clear; that the
battle against child delinquency, disease, and vice is the battle
against the slum.

The response to these ills of our cities has been wholesale
flight from the city itself, but not from the city as such. The
city remains "la source" as it has been since time immemorial.
Accordingly, the cities will not wither away; they will be
rebuilt.

The rebuilding of our cities is, therefore, one of the grand
projects for the years immediately ahead. The programs will
be varied — creative and imitative. The emphasis will be here
on one objective, there on another.

Where better to start than with the slums! This book of a
businessman's adventures tells what other countries have
been doing for years, of the little we have done, and of the
big job ahead for all of us.

IX

CONTENTS

About This Book, by Beardsley Ruml ix

1 . Prelude to Adventure 3

2. "Somebody Gets the Money" 7

3. The Circumlocution Department 22

4. Cholera and Kings 31

5. Roman Circus 41

6. Not-So-Gay Vienna 59

7. Moscow Menu 68

8. Berlin Housing Subsidy But— 82

9. Crowded as Kippers 89

10. "The Way Out" 101

11. Ickes Plays with Dynamite 107

12. "Nobody Else Will or Can"— Roosevelt 119

13. "Illegal, Illogical, Crazy as Hell!" 133

14. Lady As tor and Ladies in Limehouse 144

15. Slum Walls Fall for Father Jellicoe 161

16. Hundred New Towns 173

17. Sitting Baths and Scotsmen 184

18. Dutch Housing Beats Depression 192

19. Bandboxes and Father Penn 205

20. White House — via Mrs. Roosevelt 217

21. More than Sherman Burned 228

22. T.N.T. 242

23. No End to Adventure 257
Index 263

xi

ADVENTURES

OF A

SLUM

FIGHTER

1

PRELUDE TO
ADVENTURE

"YOU LOOK TIRED, dear." Laura's usually smiling
blue eyes were worried. "It's time you took a rest/'

Putting down the paper I'd been reading, I tamped the
tobacco in my pipe and struck a match. "I certainly don't
feel like playing eighteen holes today," I admitted. "I just
want to take it easy."

"Well, now you can."

"Yes," I said reflectively. "The contracts with the architects
have been signed, and the government has to clear out that
slum at last."

"And," Laura added, "while they are completing the plans,
you can catch your breath."

"I wonder," I said.

It was a quiet Sunday in May, 1934. My wife and I were
sitting on a stone bench in the garden back of our home in
Brookwood Hills, a residential section off Peach tree Street
in Atlanta, Georgia. Our three daughters, Margaret, Laura,
and Jeannette, had come home from Sunday school and were
in their "office" above the garage, reading proof on The
Brookwood Bugle, the neighborhood paper they published.
The world was outwardly peaceful, but inwardly I was dis-

3

4 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

turbed. I picked up the recent issue of The Economist that
Mr. Peck, of Bush House, had sent me from London.

"Listen to this, dear," I said to Laura. " 'There can be little
doubt that the desire to see the whole population housed
within a generation in dwellings large, sanitary, and pleasant
enough to make decent living possible is more widely shared
at the present moment than any other political ideal save
only that of preserving peace.' '

"That," Laura pointed out, "is just what you have been
trying to tell the real-estate people here in Atlanta."

"But they won't listen," I said. "It's like talking to the
Great Stone Face."

Laura laughed at my frustration.

"When we were in England four years ago," I reminded
her, "Peck said that slum clearance was actually helping to
increase and stabilize real-estate values in London. So it's
plain that when businessmen support slum clearance they
not only benefit humanity, they are doing themselves a
mighty good turn as well!"

"But," Laura observed, "they just won't face the facts."

"You're telling me? Take the Tech wood area we are finally
clearing. I told them what our slums cost in juvenile de-
linquency, extra police, medical care, and free hospitaliza-
tion. Why, the city has been spending nearly ten times more
In the slums than the slum tax returns. And most of those
are delinquent!"

Laura had heard me go on like this a hundred times and
more. And she was just as interested and eager to help solve
the slum problem as I. However, she was agile at changing
the subject when she wanted to calm me down.

"Know what day it is tomorrow?" she inquired.

"Certainly, it's Monday, the twenty-first of May."

"And what else?" f &

Prelude to Adventure 5

"You don't catch me there," I said with a chuckle. "It's
your birthday. What would you like, darlin'?"

"Oh," she hedged, "I don't know."

"Name it."

"A vacation— for you."

"I sure could use it," I sighed.

"For a whole year now you've been fighting every Tom,
Dick, and Harry all the way up to the White House. You're
on the point of total collapse."

"But I can't go away," I protested. "I've neglected my own
business, and I've got to get back to it. And my desk is snowed
under with inquiries from cities all over the country about
how to set up slum-clearance projects. And I've got loads of
speeches to make. And—"

"A vacation," she cut in. "The last time we trouped
Europe like tourists. We saw the Louvre, St. Peter's and the
Sistine Chapel, Westminister Abbey. This time you'll have
a complete rest— in Switzerland, maybe."

"H-m-m," I wondered aloud. "We could go to Italy again."

"But why Italy?" she wanted to know. "The moors of
Scotland would be better for relaxation."

"I've been reading about what was done in Naples way
back in 1888," I explained. "The King issued a hurry-up
order to have the slums cleaned out. And do you know why?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

"Cholera!" I exclaimed. "It was no philanthropic gesture,
my dear. The deadly disease was spreading from the slums
along the Via Roma, and the King simply wanted to save his
precious neck."

Laura sighed and said nothing.

"I'd like to see more of what they're doing in England,"
I went on with growing enthusiasm. "We got just a glimpse
the last time. We could go to Germany, Holland, Austria.

6 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

Europe is much farther ahead than we are in slum reclama-
tion, you know. Perhaps we could even see what the Russians
are doing. Maybe we can cover the whole continent."

"Your vacation, remember?"

"I'll get in touch with the State Department." I puffed on
my pipe, but it had gone out, and I didn't bother to relight
it. "I'm sure that I can get some sort of credentials to act as
an unofficial investigator of housing. Then we'll be all set
to go!"

"Heaven knows I tried," Laura said quietly.

"Darlin'," I said, taking her hand, "every man hopes that
sometime in his life he will have one great adventure. This
can be the beginning of ours, yours and mine."

I was happy to see the sparkle come back into her eyes.

2

•'SOMEBODY GETS
THE MONEY"

EACH WORKDAY morning I drove from my home
in Brookwood Hills to my office in Atlanta's business district.
The concrete boulevard looped down through pleasant
streets until it reached a corner of the Georgia Tech campus,
then headed straight toward the center of the city.

I always moved a little faster here, for ugliness was packed
close on either side: crowded, dilapidated dwellings, ragged,
dirty children, reeking outhouses— a human garbage dump—
a slum.

Why such an untended abscess should fester between the
lovely campus of our proudest school and the office buildings
in the heart of our city never consciously entered my mind.
Though my business lay in central real estate, I had no con-
nection with the Techwood slum. It was no concern of mine.
Consequently, I put greater pressure on the accelerator as
I drove through that slum twice a day, my eyes fixed on the
downtown towering structures in the morning, and on the
ivied wall of Georgia Tech's fine stadium as I headed home-
ward at sunset.

There were many more serious matters to think about in
that fateful spring of 1933. Nearly fifteen million people were
unemployed.

8 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

Meanwhile, a new president, for whom I had not voted,
was in the White House. I was quickly caught up in the
maelstrom. The upheaval of Roosevelt's first hundred days
found me shuttling even more hectically between Atlanta
and Washington. As president of the National Association of
Building Owners and Managers, I had been doing it since
1930. Everybody was engaged in a fury of planning. The
business crowd was, in some ways, more radical than the
White House. Behind their formal pronouncements, they
were scared. At our committee meetings, business leaders
frantically called on the government to do something!

The answer from the White House was an overwhelming
piece of legislation that had something concrete for most
groups and considerable confusion for everyone— the National
Industrial Recovery Act. Its boldness, even today, would
make every thoughtful citizen hold his breath. It changed
America.

Among other things, the act empowered the President to
set up a Federal Administration of Public Works and spend
over three billion dollars on various construction. Tossed
inconspicuously into the grab bag was low-cost housing and
slum clearance.

I was intrigued. As head of a corporation with three office
buildings on its hands, I had no direct connection with low-
cost housing, and slum clearance was definitely outside of my
interests. However, real estate was obviously involved. Maybe
I should take a look, just in case.

The NIRA, now the law of the land, allocated more than
a hundred million dollars for loan to nonprofit corporations
if they would add a little equity, clear slums, and build hous-
ing. The whole matter was new and untried, and there un-
doubtedly would be many complications. But the man who

"Somebody Gets the Money" 9

assembled the property for clearance and rebuilding could
expect to earn reasonable commissions.

I started to gather pertinent information and lay plans. I
acted simply as a businessman on the trail of some expected
profits. My attorney, John S. Candler II, searched the new
law with care. I examined municipal maps and records, look-
ing for a suitable slum.

I wasn't long in finding it— that old acquaintance, Tech-
wood, the nine square blocks of squalor that lay along my
route to and from business each day. From my cursory and
hesitant glances at these huddled structures, it seemed im-
probable, but the records revealed that nearly a thousand
white families were jammed into this slum.

Frankly, at the time, of equal importance to earning com-
missions was the idea, gradually forming in my mind, that
wiping out the slum area would enhance the value of our
central business properties.

I was well pleased and ready to act. However, my wife
brought up a point that troubled me.

"Have you," she asked, "ever seen a slum?"

"Why, of course," I protested. "I drive by Techwood every
day."

"With your eyes straight ahead."

"Oh," I shrugged, "I've seen some ragged kids hanging
around the shacks."

"They live there," Laura quietly said. "That's their home."

The next day I stopped my car— for the first time— just
below the well-tended green lawn of the Georgia Tech
campus. Facing away from this pleasant view, Techwood lay
before me in all its ugliness. I knew, from the records, that
the sagging wooden houses had been standing for half a
century, that they were not hand-me-downs, once good but

10 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

since gone bad. They had been deliberately built as slums.
Designed to wring the last cent from their use, for fifty years
they had taken all and given nothing.

I wandered down the street, recalling that, until recently,
the Tanyard Creek, which ran beneath the pavement, had
been an open sewer. Ragged children, some the age of my
own daughters, broke like frightened colts from a littered
alley and stampeded across the smooth concrete of the high-
way. I wondered why they were not in school.

Two-story shacks gave double use of land by porches one
above another. Underneath them, children stared through
trash between crumbling bricks that haphazardly supported
broken wooden pillars. At my approach, other youngsters ran
out of sight between gaps in the foundations.

It was early morning, and pallets strewed the shelflike
porches as those who lived within sought to escape the foul
air of the overcrowded rooms. In the rear were pools of
stagnant water near an open privy serving several families.
Behind a shack a simple-minded girl lackadaisically split
kindling wood, watched by a listless group of children.

A white-haired woman hunched over a rusty washtub.
Ragged quilts were being aired on broken crates. A chamber
pot hung beside a water dipper. A worn mop was suspended
from a remnant of lattice on a sagging porch.

I had brought along a camera and took a picture quickly,
but the tenants didn't seem to mind. They were past caring,
licked by their surroundings. A little child scuttled beneath
a filthy blanket as I tried to take his picture. The ancient
whitewashed walls of his home had long turned scabrous. A
battered wardrobe trunk made a pedestal for the shack's one
treasure— a tin wastebasket. Its colored decoration depicted

"Somebody Gets the Money" 11

a hoop-skirted belle, gaily smiling at the sniffling, frightened
baby.

I turned back to my car. I'd had enough.

As soon as I reached my office that day, I sent to the
Public Library for some books on slums. I began to read
idly, then more swiftly as I was impelled by a gathering
fascination. I was particularly impressed, though it had been
published fifty years before, by How the Other Half Lives,
written by Jacob Riis, a New York City reporter. Taking it
home with me that evening, I found that Laura was already
familiar with this militant book about slums.

My hit-and-miss reading had fruitful results. I discovered
encouraging words from Franklin Roosevelt in a speech he
had made as governor of New York in 1930 to the Board of
Trade, when he said:

"You have just cause for pride in what you have achieved
—the tall, slim buildings standing clear against the sky— but
too often around their feet cluster the squalid tenements
that house the very poor— buildings that should have been
destroyed years ago, full of dark rooms where the sunlight
never enters, stifling in the hot summer days, no fit habita-
tion for any man, far less for the thousands of children that
swarm up and down their creaking stairways."

The lead of Riis and Roosevelt and others took me in-
evitably to Atlanta's Police Station, where I had several inter-
esting sessions with the officers who walk the beats.

"Who," I wanted to know, "lives in those Techwood
shacks?"

"People," I was told. "White people."

"Do they have some income?"

"Oh, yes. They pay their rent or out they go."

12 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

"What sort of jobs do they have?"

"Well, Mr. Palmer"— the officer shifted uneasily in his
chair—" we've got a lot of whores down there."

"But that area is alive with children!" I protested. "What
about the bad influence?"

"There's a good deal of that down there," he admitted,
"and not just from the prostitutes. They've got bootleggers
and thieves, too. Somebody gets killed every now and then.
Oh, there's plenty of bad influence, all right."

"Why don't you people clean it up?"

The officer eyed me blankly for a moment.

"Take a walk through there someday," he finally sug-
gested. "Go into the houses, look at the people, count how
many of them are jammed into each room."

"I already have," I said.

"Well, we try to hold down things as best we can. For
safety's sake, our men patrol the area in pairs."

"But this place is wedged in between two of the most
valuable sections of the city!"

"Yes, that's pretty strange."

"There must be decent people living there."

"Of course there are," the officer agreed. "That's the only
reason any regulation is possible. But they're so damned
poor, working at jobs that pay less than a living, or else on
relief. They'd take their families away if they could, but
they just can't. Where would they go?"

"There's one thing sure," I emphasized. "If a sound pro-
gram was put under way to tear out that pesthole and rebuild
it with decent homes, there shouldn't be any opposition."

The official glanced at me warily, his eyes narrowing.

"I don't know about that," he said softly.

"You don't?" I exclaimed in surprise.

"Look, Mr. Palmer," he said patiently, as if explaining a

"Somebody Gets the Money" 13

simple problem to a child, "all those Tech wood folks pay
rent. Somebody gets the money/'

So that was it, eh? Well, I thought to myself, we'll see. I
went into slum clearance with my eyes wide open. It was
one thing to promote and finance commercial buildings on
downtown sites. But to promote, finance, and rebuild nine
full blocks of one of the worst slums in the city, wreck its
hundreds of hovels, and replace them with decent, safe, and
sanitary homes for two thousand people? That was some-
thing else again.

The immediate problem was to develop a packaged pro-
gram that would include an over-all estimate of costs. I con-
ferred with Thorne Flagler, a builder, and Flip Surge, an
architect, and was able to imbue them with some of my en-
thusiasm. They drew the plans and estimated the costs for
what, we hoped, would be the first slum clearance in history
by Uncle Sam. When the preliminaries were all set, it was my
turn to carry the ball.

Promotion and group support were now the problem. In-
fluential help was needed from a cross section of leaders who
would understand the long-range benefits to the community.
They must represent the views of capital, labor, local govern-
ment, the press, and the social-service agencies.

The man whose help would mean most in organizing such
a group was Clark Howell, Sr., publisher of The Atlanta
Constitution, a morning newspaper that had recently won
the Pulitzer Prize for its successful crusade against municipal
graft. A great newspaperman and fearless fighter for honest
journalism, Clark Howell was also a Democratic Party big-
wig and warm personal friend of the new President. My
stanch Republicanism appeared to have amusing aspects to
him, but it in no way affected our friendship.

14 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

When I telephoned "Mr. Clark," he chuckled about the
circus going on in Washington before asking what was on my
mind.

"Slum clearance," he repeated after me. "But that's one
of those Roosevelt ideas."

"It's a completely sound business project," I told him
firmly.

"Maybe it's more than that. What area do you have in
mind?"

"Techwood."

"Come over tomorrow," he said after a pause, "and bring
along your plans."

The next day Thorne Flagler and I met with Clark Howell
and explained the provision of funds in the NIRA to clear
slums and make work.

"Selfishly," I volunteered, "I'd like to get after the Tech-
wood Drive area to help stabilize values not far from our
office buildings, and at the same time earn commissions
through assembling the land. Thorne here wants to do the
building, and Flip Burge will draw the plans. From a civic
viewpoint, such a project will rid the city of one of its worst
slums and also clean up the terrible conditions around
Georgia Tech."

"I have been familiar with that property since boyhood,"
"Mr. Clark" said. "Though it is in the center of the city, it's a
cesspool of poverty, squalor, and corruption. I'll help all I
can to wipe it out, and good riddance."

The gentle, aging Dr. M. L. Brittain, president of Georgia
Tech, was the next to agree to become a member of the
Board of Trustees. Herbert Choate, president of the Chamber
of Commerce, also accepted. In joining us, James L. Key, our
stormy mayor, assured us of his full support. Herbert Porter,

"Somebody Gets the Money" 15

general manager of Hearst's Georgian-American, accepted
heartily, as did Sid Tiller from labor.

The sincere spirit of these leaders and the balance of the
board was so gratifying that I sighed with relief. But I was
counting my chickens too soon. I couldn't know then that
prejudiced interests would threaten our mayor with political
reprisals unless he resigned. Or that certain real-estate brokers
were to call on Major John S. Cohen, editor of The Atlanta
Journal, and warn him that until he withdrew from the board
they would stop their advertising in his newspaper. The
Major had an unequivocal answer for them.

"You can all go plumb to hell!"

A breathless woman burst in upon Herbert Porter at the
Georgian-American and demanded that he get off our Board
of Trustees at once.

"Why should I?" he placidly inquired.

"Why, my good man," she blazed, "don't you know that
the buildings for the slum clearance are being designed with
machine-gun nests on top? They are to be the forts in the
coming revolution!"

There was more, lots more.

Through the summer months of that year, 1933, I was in
many ways more active than I had ever been before, even in
the earlier period when overwork nearly finished me while
creating our office-building corporation in Atlanta out of
nothing. Perhaps I was working with an even greater purpose.
I found a freshness in the fast-moving events. There was a
new look to everything. The city of Atlanta, which, though
adopted, held my deep affection and pride, caught my eyes in
a different, larger way, somehow.

Maybe a part of my nature that the regular run of business

16 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

matters had never aroused was becoming involved. My father
had been a broad-gauge man: a bookstore owner, founder of
the American Booksellers' Association, and for a time mayor
of our home city of Grand Rapids, Michigan. My mother had
been the moving spirit that created the Golden Rule Hospital
for Crippled Children, and was a director until her death.
Perhaps their hopes and dreams were stirring in me.

While organizing the Techwood project, I was called in on
an equally urgent need to clear a slum across town near
Atlanta University. My help was sought by its president, Dr.
John Hope, and O. I. Freeman, civil engineer, and W. J.
Sayward, architect, who had developed plans for a Negro
housing project on a slum site almost in the heart of this
great university for colored students.

The district was known as "Beavers' Slide" because of a
mishap befalling Police Chief Beavers some years ago. It
seems that while looking over the area from the brow of a
low hill one day, the chief observed such lawlessness that in
his anger he lost his balance and slid down the hill into the
slums below.

We applied the pattern set by Techwood experience, and
before long University Homes for Negroes was in preliminary
shape, with Dr. Hope as chairman of the Board of Trustees.

Though Dr. Hope and I had met before, this was my first
real acquaintance with him. I learned from colleagues of his
how much his strength had been sapped by tremendous
labors of devotion to the university, which he had expanded
through the years. He was frail and tired very easily. Yet I
felt a great strength in him.

One smoldering afternoon we climbed a slope of Beavers'
Slide together. I had to hold his arm to assist him part of
the way. But when he reached the top, his heavy gray head
lifted, and his clear blue eyes swept down across the sorry

"Somebody Gets the Money" 17

scene below with what I can only describe as militant benevo-
lence. The thought struck me that here was a man who had
probably worked harder and braved more scorn than anyone
my life had ever touched.

"I've dreamed about this place changing into something
beautiful," he said, making a wide gesture with his hand.
"Not pretty, but straight and clean and full of light."

"We're on our way," I said. "We won't have too many
problems."

"Oh, yes," he said sadly, "there will be great difficulties,
I'm afraid."

"Do you think we might fail?"

"Fail?" Dr. Hope smiled. "Of course not. But we will have
a struggle; and there will be times along the way when we
will think we're beaten."

It made me proud to have him speak of the two of us as
people working side by side. And that is the way it was for
more than two long years, taking our beatings together and
enjoying the inspiring moments of slow but steady progress.
At each rough passage along the road, he mustered from
somewhere a flare of extra strength, so it seemed that I felt
his thin hand assisting me as I had helped him on the slope
of Beavers' Slide that day.

John Hope was to live to see the kind of beauty he had
hoped for replace that slum.

I practically became a commuter to and from Washington
as federal red tape began to tie knots in our plans. It be-
came clear that the distribution of federal money to local
projects would drag along very slowly. First, there was the
necessity of examining each project separately. Secondly,
there was the inane order by Harold Ickes, Public Works
Administrator, that he must personally approve every item of

18 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

expenditure, even if as little as five hundred dollars. Ickes
simply would not delegate authority to his own trusted assist-
ants or to anyone else. But after months of pulling and
tugging we finally got action.

On October 13, 1933, Washington approved the com-
panion projects: Techwood Homes for more than six hundred
white families, and University Homes for about eight hun-
dred Negro families, the first and second slum-clearance
projects by the United States. I returned to Atlanta, bursting
with stirring plans of action. However, a number of surprises
awaited me in my home town.

Three days later, a hundred Atlanta real-estate owners
and brokers met under the sponsorship of the Atlanta Apart-
ment House Owners Association. Their focus of attack was
Techwood Homes, and plans were hurriedly laid to block its
development in the City Council and Washington as well. A
committee was appointed, and legal counsel was engaged.
A "fight to the last ditch" policy was grimly adopted.

Day by day, this group made charges that hit the front
pages of the local newspapers, being given more than fair
space by publishers who themselves were firm in their en-
dorsement of the slum-clearance projects. The cry was that
we had failed to inform the citizens of Atlanta that "there
were hundreds of apartments vacant, thousands of homes
being foreclosed because their owners could not pay the
taxes, more than half the apartment houses being operated
under rent assignment agreements with loan companies."
Our new housing, it was claimed, should not be constructed
because there was too much housing already.

Patiently our Board of Trustees explained that the razing
and rebuilding of Techwood would in no way compete with
privately owned properties since overcrowding had jammed
as many families— and more— into the hovels to be destroyed

"Somebody Gets the Money" 19

as the new homes would accommodate. We pointed out,
again and again, that only extremely low-income families,
who could not afford the higher rents required by private
owners, would be eligible for the new Techwood Homes.
The difference, we emphasized repeatedly, would be in the
kind of housing and not in the quantity. But nobody seemed
to want to listen and the arguments against us continued
with increasing fury.

Our opponents acted like the wild-eyed woman who visited
Herbert Porter— as if revolution actually were at hand. No
logic— either economic or humanitarian— appealed to them.
I was bewildered by the sustained ferocity of the attack upon
us. Though having spent many years in competitive business,
I did not realize the desperation with which some people will
fight for tainted money.

The core of resistance was revealed as the opposition con-
tinued sending telegrams and delegations to Washington.
The attack came out into the open when the Federal Housing
Division wrote us seeking "any information you can give
regarding the people involved in this wholesale transmittal
of telegrams which is evidently an organized effort." A list
of names was enclosed.

We made a check and established that these telegrams came
from owners of slum properties who had been collecting ex-
tortionist rents for years, brokers who managed slum proper-
ties, trust companies or dummy real-estate corporations that
concealed the identity of prominent people, and agents or
home-office representatives of certain insurance and mortgage
companies.

I had widened my reading on slum clearance and recalled
the words of Harry Barnes, Britain's great housing authority.
"There is no money in housing the poorest people well," he

20 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

wrote. "There has always been money in housing them ill."
We were up against those who "housed them ill."

Hoping to launch a counterattack that would prove effec-
tive, I sorted out the photographs I had made of the Tech-
wood slums and took many more. To these pictures we were
able to attach the names of many people prominent in the
opposition campaign, identifying them as the owners or
managers of the slum properties. We sent this material to
Washington. The pictures were better than words. The
federal officials swung to our side— at least for the moment.

But the battle was far from over. Formal petitions were
sent to the Housing Division, arguing for specific changes in
our program and requesting that the sites for slum clearance
be altered to include certain additional blocks and the elimi-
nation of others. Our investigation showed that such shifts
were advocated, not in the public interest, but simply to in-
clude real estate that the petitioners wanted to sell.

Their tirade was completely irresponsible. Especially
when it claimed: "Beavers' Slide is much superior to the
average Negro community." I shuddered to think that this
could be true.

There was a lighter side, too. Labeling Techwood Homes
as "Palmer's Paradise," the opposition warned that "this
queer alliance between Uncle Sam and Uncle Chuck" would
come to no good end even though "the sorry little shacks
along Tanyard Creek are not as fetching to the eye as would
be the brick structures contemplated, nor as ambrosial to
the nostrils."

Concentrating, as we were, upon the local fight, we trustees
didn't realize that even greater obstacles were looming in
Washington. Construction plans, real-estate procedures, and
architects' agreements that we had worked out with great
care were bogging down when submitted to government

"Somebody Gets the Money" 21

lawyers. We were getting nowhere fast, so I agreed to go to
Washington again. While intending to stay three days, I was
there for six exhausting weeks. Fortunately, when she saw
that I had no idea when I'd be back home, Laura packed
some extra bags and joined me.

3

THE CIRCUMLOCUTION
DEPARTMENT

THE FIRST FEW mornings in Washington I rolled
out of bed full of pep. By the end of the week I had accom-
plished nothing, and the pep changed to just plain dogged-
ness. One real-estate procedure, so sensible and logical that
its setting up in Atlanta had been practically automatic, held
me in bewildering conferences with a succession of lawyers
for days on end, with no conclusions reached. At this rate
I doubted whether a year of haranguing would result in final
approval for Techwood.

One night I went back to the hotel and found Laura
reading a worn, paperbound volume of Charles Dickens that
some previous guest had left behind. Dickens had been a
great favorite of my father's and us children. He guided us
from listeners, as he read aloud, to readers making our own
discoveries in literature. I idly picked up the book from
Laura's lap and saw that it was Little Dorrit, which I re-
membered well.

It suddenly struck me that my efforts at dealing with
government in Washington seemed as stalemated as those
Dorrit's benefactor had had with Whitehall in London, so
amusingly described by Dickens nearly a century ago. It was
then, the reader may remember, that Dorrit's friend sought

22

The Circumlocution Department 23

her release from debtor's prison through Whitehall's
"Circumlocution Department." This was the proper channel
simply because "no public business of any kind could possibly
be done at any time without the acquiescence of the Circum-
locution Department." And it would not act until it had
compiled "half a bushel of minutes, several stacks of official
memoranda, and a family-vault-full of ungrammatical corre-
spondence." In the Circumlocution Department, highly
skilled personnel "muddled the business, addled the business,
tossed the business in a wet blanket," and then issued in-
structions on "how not to do it."

I turned to this part of the story and read it aloud to
Laura. The cloudy look in her eyes cleared to sunshine, and
I forgot my utter weariness as we both burst into laughter.

The parallel between Britain's Circumlocution Depart-
ment and our Housing Division's Legal Department was too
apt to ignore. So the next morning, instead of continuing my
interminable discussions with the attorneys. I excerpted
appropriate passages from Little Dorrit. I wrote an introduc-
tion showing the parallel with Washington legalism. Then I
had the paper mimeographed and circulated where it would
do the most good.

It broke the ice. Where logic, earnest persuasion, and pleas
had failed of results, satire got action. One lawyer told me
with a grin that, according to the grapevine, it drew a re-
sounding laugh from the President. Roosevelt, it was well
known, ran a highly personalized government that often
brushed off a multitude of details when they got in the way.
As a result, my snail-like pace among the lawyers quickened
to a run, and I returned to Atlanta immensely heartened.

Such encouragement might have been justified if Atlanta
had been the only point of housing discussion in Washington.
But the national publicity given Techwood had stimulated

24 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

similar projects in other cities, and in each of them the
pattern of opposition closely followed our own. Even as I
left Washington, broad attacks by landlords, insurance com-
panies, and moneylenders all over the country were forcing
changes in the over-all housing picture. Their objective, of
course, was to stop the program altogether. Instead, they
were forcing it into another and, to them, equally unwelcome
channel.

With the widening discovery that the National Industrial
Recovery Act included loans for limited-dividend corpora-
tions to build low-rent housing projects, capital began to
cry that it was unfair competition in the money market, the
building market, and the rental market. The now familiar
claim that "there is no need for new housing as there's more
than enough now" was increasingly heard in the land. Their
main theme was "Keep out of our field and do not take our
tenants/' which was valid with sound property, but invalid
when it came to slums.

Taking these highly vocal opponents at their word, the
Housing Division adopted the policy that all projects must
clear slums and rent below the level at which private capital
could function. Thus, ironically enough, the capitalists
forced the federal government directly into the housing busi-
ness for the poorest people since the only way to get rents
down— in a field where no profit could be made without
exploitation— was for the government to do the entire job
itself. Land could then be purchased for all cash, instead of
part cash and part debentures in limited-dividend corpora-
tions. Interest would be at 4 per cent or less on the whole
investment, instead of 4 per cent on the government loan
and 6 per cent on the equities. By effecting these and similar
savings, rents could be substantially reduced.

In line with this change in policy, the government pro-

The Circumlocution Department 25

posed, late in November, 1933, to transfer our two Atlanta
projects to the Federal Emergency Housing Corporation,
which had been set up to carry out the altered procedure.
Each policy change, naturally enough, brought a new ava-
lanche of difficulties to our long-harried Board of Trustees.
And the constant pressure of the opposition kept gumming
up the works. By mid-December, even Director of Housing
Kohn had begun to vacillate, and we persuaded him to come
to Atlanta to give our work his personal inspection. He
brought along a lawyer and a technician, and they met with
our board and held public hearings.

By the time Dr. Kohn and his associates were ready to re-
turn to Washington, the trustees had tentatively agreed to
transfer both projects, and all the other problems had been
settled— or so it was hopefully believed. I, however, had my
doubts, for I had already been up against Washington's
"Circumlocution Department."

Days went wearily by without a peep from Washington.
My fellow trustees were busy men of affairs, giving un-
selfishly of their time, but the unwarranted delay made them
restless. Letters and telegrams were sent to Dr. Kohn, asking
him for immediate action. Still no word. Then Clark Howell,
with three other members of the board, wired Secretary of
Labor Perkins, official adviser on housing: "UNEMPLOYMENT
CONDITIONS SO ACUTE IN ATLANTA WE ALL FEEL IT IMPERATIVE
THAT TECHWOOD AND UNIVERSITY HOUSING PROJECTS BE

STARTED AT EARLIEST POSSIBLE MOMENT." But Madame

Perkins was apparently too far behind in her correspondence
to notice this message at the bottom of the pile.

"Who's running things up there?" Clark Howell finally
demanded of me.

"You're the Democrat," I pointed out.

He eyed me grimly.

26 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

"If I write a letter to Roosevelt," he suddenly proposed,
"will you deliver it?"

"You bet I will!"

"Mr. Clark" immediately composed a message concisely
giving the facts of the matter: both projects were ideally
suited to the President's program; both would make work
and clear slums; each was headed by trustees personally
known to the President; everything was ready to start when
Ickes gave Kohn the O.K. With the letter in my brief case,
I caught the night train for Washington.

The next morning I phoned the White House and was
given an appointment for late that afternoon. I got there
on the dot and was greeted by Presidential Secretary Marvin
Mclntyre.

"Hello, Palmer," he said. "I understand you have a letter
from Clark Howell."

"Yes," I said, "and it's mighty important, too."

"Well," he hedged, "the Boss is about to leave the office.
I'll take it up with him later."

"How about right now?" I asked in desperation. "This
matter is urgent. It's about slum clearance."

"That's a pet of his," Mclntyre said. "Let's have it, and
I'll see what he says."

I handed him the letter, and he disappeared. In about
three minutes he returned with Roosevelt's voice crackling
through the open door behind him.

"He got a kick out of it," Mclntyre grinned.

Through the doorway, I saw the President sitting at a
cluttered desk. Catching my look, he gave me a hailing
gesture.

"Chuck, it's grand to see you again!"

The Circumlocution Department 27

I waved back, warmed by the same friendly smile that had
greeted me when we first met at Warm Springs, Georgia,
years before.

"What sort of Republican are you? Fighting for slum
clearance!" he called to me. "We're pretty busy around here,
but I'll stir things up for you. Mac will see to it."

He waved again as Mclntyre closed the door.

"You'll hear from me tomorrow," he promised.

I was on pins and needles the next day until a message
came through from "Mac" saying that everything had been
taken care of. Later I was advised that Ickes would act
favorably on the projects within a few days. I went back to
Atlanta in excellent spirits, feeling that this time there would
be no knots in the legal skein.

Who could stop us now? Who else but U.S. Comptroller
General McCarl. He ruled the Emergency Housing Corpora-
tion unconstitutional just three days after my O.K. from
Mclntyre. That put Ickes's tail over the dashboard. McCarl's
action, he blasted, was "a distinct violation of the Executive
Order of the President" and giving the Attorney General
"no time to do anything else than examine titles under this
ruling." But Ickes's anger soon cooled. "Until the Comp-
troller General learns he is not running the Housing Corpora-
tion," he said more temperately, "we cannot move a hand."
Who outranked whom? Congress untied this knot by hur-
riedly passing a bill that made Ickes president of the Federal
Housing Corporation.

Meanwhile, fresh attacks were being made upon the
Atlanta projects and our Board of Trustees, some of them
sharply personal. Now I became the prime target of vilifica-
tion: "Land to sell at outrageous prices, hidden interests,
undisclosed commissions in shocking amounts."

28 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

So ruthless and well publicized were the charges that Ickes
put some of his sleuths on my trail. I was investigated for
nearly a year. The job was thoroughly done. Friends and foes
were interviewed. It was a novel experience to catch glimpses
of this detective work. Finally the investigators found, and so
reported, that any land I owned that might be affected by
Techwood had been acquired long before the project was
conceived; that my interest in commissions had been dis-
closed when the project was first submitted to Washington
and the commissions then officially approved; and, further,
that I would not— and did not— take any compensation for
services after the projects were transferred to the government.

It was gratifying to receive the unsolicited comment of
special agent A. D. Mockabee just before he left Atlanta.
"Palmer," he said, "if I'm ever investigated, I hope I come
off with as clean a bill of health as you."

But valuable time was passing. Ickes became even more
cautious, though Roosevelt had engineered passage of the
bill setting up the Federal Emergency Housing Corporation,
thus clearing away the legal blocks. It was March, 1934, be-
fore transfer was made of our limited-dividend corporations
to the new government agency, with our Boards of Trustees
becoming advisory committees.

The fight against final approval of the projects rolled on,
increasing in intensity and prolonging Ickes's hesitation.
Alarmed tenants vacated buildings on the sites to be cleared.
Others remained but refused to pay rent. There was general
confusion and anger among the owners of the properties. By
mid-April, the Mayor of Atlanta, the President of the Georgia
Federation of Labor, and many lesser lights petitioned Ickes
to appoint the architects and go ahead with land purchase
without further delay.

The Circumlocution Department 29

On May 17, the architects' contracts for Techwood were
signed with Burge and Stevens, and Thorne Flagler was
made superintendent. Two days later District Judge E.
Marvin Underwood approved an order for the government
to buy the land. Federal officials hailed the order as "epoch-
making."

A full year had passed since Roosevelt had sent slum-
clearance legislation to Congress. And there was still another
delaying action. The Atlanta Apartment House Owners
Association sought an injunction, and not until July was
their suit dismissed. So we were off to a good head start.

That Atlanta was first had its disadvantages. Not only were
we the guinea pig for each step never before undertaken, but
other cities besieged us for help. Inquiries came from Nash-
ville, Chattanooga, New Orleans, Savannah, Lexington,
Lynchburg, Grand Rapids, Columbia, Montgomery, and
Macon. Many sent delegations. We were glad to help, but it
took time and energy. There were also innumerable speeches
to make in Atlanta and elsewhere.

What with my own business to tend to besides, and flying
back and forth between Atlanta and Washington, the day had
come for some time out.

Laura said to me, "You need a vacation."

"I've got to catch up on some of my own business," I re-
minded her. "And these inquiries from cities all over the
country about how to set up slum-clearance projects— speeches
to make—"

"I think it's become incurable," she said.

"What has?"

"This crusade of yours."

"Nothing of the sort. It's sound business. Look at the in-
creased value of central business properties once we get those

30 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

nearby slums cleared out— new playgrounds for children-
less crime—"

Laura nodded. "You're about a week away from total
collapse."

On July 7, 1934, we sailed for two months in Europe.

4

CHOLERA
AND KINGS

ALL SEEMED comparatively quiet— at least as far as
I was concerned— along the banks of the Potomac and the
Chattahoochee when Laura and I left on the Conte di Savoia
for Naples. Credentials had been arranged from Secretary
of State Cordell Hull and Acting Secretary of Commerce
John Dickenson that would inform other governments that
I was a qualified investigator of public housing and was to
be extended every reasonable courtesy.

"You're an unofficial ambassador," Laura said as we lolled
in our deck chairs.

"On unofficial business," I added.

"Even your vacation," Laura said unhappily, "is unofficial."

"Well," I grinned, "Washington has given us official per-
mission to pay all the expenses ourselves."

"And that's all right, too," Laura said with a smile.

I retreated back to my own thoughts of Italy and to specu-
lations of what the enterprising Italians might have accom-
plished in clearing and rebuilding slum areas. When we had
visited Italy four years ago, slums never entered my mind.
Business buildings had been my primary concern, and a
series of conferences in handsome offices had led to the
audience chamber of II Duce himself. Mussolini had been

31

32 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

most affable, rearing back in his big chair and glaring pleas-
antly at me with his banjo eyes, grinning now and then
while his broken English crackled, as we discussed business
buildings. What, I wondered now, would have been II Duce's
response if I had asked whether children died more rapidly in
Naples's slums than elsewhere?

Consul Howard Withey and I hit it off at once, for he was
interested in slums, too. He had, in fact, recently completed
a report, "Municipal Construction and Slum Demolition at
Naples." He gave me a copy, quickly lined up appointments,
and assigned William Gargiulo as my interpreter and guide.

Reading Withey 's report later, I learned that in the past
five hundred years the center of Naples, a district known as
Rione della Carita, had been going from bad to worse. It
was situated on a slope, down which drainage water and
garbage flowed constantly through the centuries. Its vast
maze of buildings, crammed with poverty-stricken humanity,
had developed like cancer cells, feeding on each other and
slowly spreading farther into the city. The result, Withey
wrote, "did not constitute the worst slums in Naples, but
conditions were bad enough to satisfy any except the most
exacting connoisseurs of squalor. The place was a nest of
thievery and prostitution and, not infrequently, a breeding
place of pestilence/'

Smallpox had spread from an Atlanta slum, so we sent the
victims to pesthouses. We treated the disease but left its
source, the slum, alone.

Not so with the Italians! Cholera became so widespread
in Naples in 1884 tnat His Majesty Umberto I and several
ecclesiastical dignitaries visited the city; and, as a result, three
sections, including the Rione della Carita, were ordered
wrecked and rebuilt. This initial slum-clearance program,

Cholera and Kings 33

called "the disemboweling of Naples," never quite got around
to the Carita district, but by 1900 a passable job had been
done on the other two slum sections of Naples.

The Fascists revived the Carita project in 1931, dividing
it into seven zones for progressive clearance. On visiting
zone one, we found that all 1,100 units had been cleared. A
unit, we noted, meant not an apartment but just a single
room, since the average occupancy was at least one family
per room.

Work was also progressing in zones two, three, and four.
When all were rebuilt, the buildings would occupy only
55 per cent of the combined sites, leaving nearly half for
streets and other open spaces. This was in sharp contrast to
the past when the old buildings had taken up all but 6 per
cent of the land. Incidentally, at this time in history, Jacob
Riis was reporting that certain New York slums covered all
but 7 per cent of their sites.

Laws enacted in Italy before the turn of the century pro-
vided power to condemn slum property and thus made this
wholesale clearance possible. Now, in 1934, we in America
were just beginning to explore the problem.

After a good view atop the new post office we left the
clearance areas for the adjoining slums that had not yet been
tackled. They were above the Via Roma, a main boulevard
of majestic proportions, lined with monumental buildings.
I particularly recalled the Galleria Umberto I from my
studies of business buildings during our visit to Naples in
1930. So we momentarily changed our minds and went to
the Galleria first.

This great arcade faces the Via Roma, covering a tremen-
dous area. Its four main streets— for pedestrian traffic only-
form a cross with a colossal rotunda covered by a blue-glass
dome. Multitoned marble and terra cotta are used on the

34 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

facades of the buildings. The streets are of gorgeously
colored tiles.

After refreshing ourselves with a Carpano and "Seltz" at
an outdoor table, we started for the slums. We crossed the
Via Roma, passing the beautiful buildings opposite the
Galleria, and suddenly found ourselves in dark caverns of
squalor and filth. Here no aperitif tables lined the pavements.
There was, in fact, hardly enough room to walk down the
street without stepping in the open sewers that ran along
each side. We passed a street urinal that had overflowed the
passageway.

In Techwood our slums were only two layers deep; here
they were seven. We could see into the ground floors. Each
single room, with a door opening directly to the street, com-
prised a complete living unit about twelve feet square. The
half-dozen layers above them had tiny eighteen-inch bal-
conies at the single window of each unit. Too small to sit on,
they served as catchalls and as anchorage for clotheslines that
stretched across the narrow crevasses of the streets. Groups of
chattering people huddled miserably together. Occasionally
a child would dart out from nowhere and disappear across
the street into darkness. We were relieved and happy to get
out into the sun again.

William Gargiulo, our adroit guide, managed to wangle
a private session for us with Pietro Baratono, High Com-
missioner, who represented both II Duce and the King.
Baratono, it was soon evident, knew all about slum clearance.

"Yes," he replied to my first question, "slum clearance is
well under way. And I am putting on two thousand more
men next week. They will clear about sixteen thousand units.
No, it isn't costing too much. The entire job will run around

Cholera and Kings 35

twenty million dollars, with the government's share some
three million."

"Why so little from the government?" I inquired.

"Because insurance companies put up the money. Rent
pays it back. The government pays the interest. We keep all
costs down. I set the price we pay for land. Buildings are
built by contract. Local materials are used. Solid masonry
mostly. Practically no steel. No fancy business inside. But the
outside is beautiful," Baratono concluded. "You shall see."

And so we did. Soon after breakfast next morning, our
guide called for us in a large limousine driven by a uniformed
chauffeur. We were taken directly to housing headquarters,
where the director, Conte de la Ville Sur Illon, awaited us.

Today, we were informed, we were not to visit slums. We
had already discovered that Naples still had them in shame-
ful abundance. Right now we must see some photographs of
slum areas taken before and after rebuilding.

Shuttling from table to flat-topped desk, Conte de la Ville
handed me one exhibit after another. Studying them, I could
hardly believe my eyes. The first example looked like dens
of thieves conjured up by Hollywood. The walls of the
moundlike structures, which lined a railroad track, were
made of broken paving blocks. The roofs were castoff pieces
of wood or metal. Stone steps, worn concave by generations
of shuffling feet, led to other windowless hovels that stretched
into the distance to a tall smokestack in the far background.
Bad as these were, I had seen, too often, their counterparts
in America.

The Director covered this picture with one showing a
group of four-story buildings looking much like Carnegie
Libraries. These were the Case Popolari, Naples's public
housing. I immediately recognized the railroad track and the

36 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

tall chimney in the previous photo. A neat wrought-iron
fence with stone pillars now bounded the railroad.

"All public buildings," the Director said vigorously, "must
be beautiful— even those occupied by the poor."

"But that costs money," I said.

"Only a little more," Conte de la Ville replied with a
gesture. "And we save on the insides. No frills. No extrava-
gance. All for utility. All for sanitation. All for good health."

My skepticism must have shown on my face. The Director
hustled to the table and opened a large book. Here were
floor plans done in color. They gave every detail of the truly
Spartan interiors. Transparent overlays showed how the first
floor compared with the second, and so on up. Drawn to
scale, this superlative record book was as concise and com-
plete as any I had ever seen.

It developed that the main source of funds was the National
Institute of Insurance. This gigantic government-controlled
corporation had vast resources since everyone had to pay into
it. The Institute's major investments were in the Case
Popolari. First, because housing was a good risk. Secondly,
and perhaps of even greater importance, because good hous-
ing so appreciably lowered disease and mortality rates that
the Institute's losses were materially reduced.

The loans were for 100 per cent to publicly administered
corporations at 5 per cent interest, and 2.7 per cent amorti-
zation, including fire insurance. Properties remained tax-free
for twenty-five years. As Baratono had said, the government
paid the interest. It also maintained the grounds. Conse-
quently, all the rent had to cover was the amortization, which
made the rents so low that even slum dwellers could afford
the apartments.

Rent for the smallest units of less than 200 square feet was
only about $1.75 a month. The average size of four rooms,

Cholera and Kings 37

exclusive of halls, kitchen, and toilet, rented for less than
|i3.oo a month, scaled up or down in accordance with the
ability to pay. This included water, but electricity was extra.
Nonpayment of rent by the fourth of each month was cause
for automatic eviction in ten days.

No subtenants were allowed because, though many families
had eight or more children, boarders were always welcomed
to boost the family income. As it was, several of the new
projects averaged three persons per room, making a full
dozen in the family. This was, however, a marked improve-
ment over the average of twelve per room in the Carita slums.
Incidentally, tuberculosis had dropped two-thirds among
the people transferred from the Carita District to the Case
Popolari.

Our classroom work over, the Director announced that he
would now conduct us on a field trip. We drove to an indus-
trial district in the eastern part of the city and soon came
upon the villa-type buildings and surrounding gardens of
Case Popolari Luigi Luzzatti. The facades of the buildings
were in delicate tones of brown and yellow stucco. The 2,547
rooms were all occupied. Despite the frills outside, there
were none within. The floors were of concrete with marble-
dust topping, and just as inexpensive was the wall-bearing
construction of pumice and concrete. There were no base-
boards to maintain. Each room had an outside window meet-
ing the standard requirement of 10 per cent glass to the
room's floor area.

The kitchen stoves provided the little heat required in
southern Italy. Since iron and enamel were in scarce supply
the sinks were of vitreous material. Wherever possible,
kitchens faced the north so louvers in the exterior wall would
let cool air into a closet for food storage. There was no ice-
box. The glazed wainscot was spotless in the units we saw.

38 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

So was the rest of the apartment. Laura called my attention
to the fact that even the corners of the long halls connecting
the rooms were clean.

I inquired about bathing facilities and was told of central
provisions within the project. We took them at their word,
not knowing what the standard of modesty would be in case
we asked to inspect the baths. After all, the Baths of Cara-
calla in Rome some several centuries ago had quite a repu-
tation for informality.

Group facilities brought up the question of where the
children played. There were no porches; only an occasional
balcony as an ornament, or to save a tenant from falling out
a window. Nor were there any private yards. Were the
youngsters confined to their homes?

Our host smiled in anticipation as he conducted us to
what he called "the nest," a separate building conveniently
located on the site. There were, I noticed, no traffic arteries
to cross to reach it from any direction. "The nest" was, in
fact, a super day nursery. All of the furnishings were in
miniature— chairs, tables, toilets, washstands— and constructed
of the simplest and sturdiest materials obtainable.

In the lunchroom the dishes on the cove-edged, Lilliputian
tables were of machined aluminum. The floors were of cork
tile. The walls were severely plain, finished in washable
paint with dado of pleasing light green. Any pictures on the
walls? There was one— II Duce.

In the room where the children received instruction were
tiny double desks and straight-backed chairs facing teacher.
The floor was terrazzo, and the wall dado had a colored tile
cap. Pictures? There were two this time— II Duce and Victor
Emmanuel III.

We glimpsed the outdoor playgrounds, were told of the
maternity clinic and how the children of working mothers

Cholera and Kings 39

were cared for. Then we moved on to another project, the
Duca d'Acosta, on the western outskirts of the city.

This development of 2,240 rooms was less desirable as it
took longer to get to work. We inquired about laundries
since there were no tubs in the kitchens here or at Luigi
Luzzatti. We were taken to a large basement room where
some automatic equipment and rows of tubs, many of slate,
were available for the free use of the residents. The flat roofs
of the buildings served as drying yards.

There were fewer children about at D'Acosta, and we
learned that many of them were at public summer camps in
the mountains. About 60,000 children from Naples were
given an arranged vacation that year. After visiting two more
Case Popolari, we called it a day.

The next morning, Laura and I set out again with just
our guide, Gargiulo. There was one development so different
from the others that Gargiulo said we mustn't miss seeing it.
It was in a congested area of central Naples, where 100
per cent of the slum dwellers and slum merchants were
being rehoused on the same site. This method was called
"decanting," from the ancient process of slowly pouring old
wine into new bottles, thus eliminating the dregs.

The project covered ten city blocks. All the occupants of
block one were moved into an existing Case Popolari. The
old block was wrecked and rebuilt. Then the tenants of block
two shifted across the way to the rebuilt block one. This
"Going to Jerusalem" procedure was carried on from block
three to two, four to three, and so on. Finally, when the last
one, block ten, was finished, the former occupants of block
one were moved from their temporary quarters to block ten.
By using this progressive method, all of the slum dwellers
were rehoused on the same site, and only 10 per cent had to
leave temporarily. At our visit the job was about midway

40 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

to completion, and I took motion pictures showing all stages
of the "decanting."

Where to house people while their slums are being de-
molished and rebuilt has always been— and still is— a very
serious problem. That the Italians were able to solve it
through "decanting" gave us an example we could well use
back home.

5

ROMAN
CIRCUS

WE HAD much to think about en route to Rome.
Not that there was much time, for the i4O-mile trip took only
two and a half hours by direttissimo, nonstop train. Laura
agreed we hadn't had much rest, but we did have an entirely
different kind of experience.

"It's all right to see the usual tourist sights," she said, "and
I'm glad we took them in on our past trip. Then we saw
things. I mean, what's left of Pompeii, the museums, Capri,
and the Blue Grotto. But this time we saw people."

She had something there. Of course, we had been— in a
limited way— with the people of the country before. I'd had
sessions with businessmen about office buildings and how
they carried on their work. Occasionally Laura and I would
meet their wives and families. But for the most part our con-
tacts had been with the staffs of Cook's and the American
Express, with hotel managers, headwaiters, guides, cab-
drivers, and shopkeepers. The relationship was mostly that
of buyer and seller, not of citizens of different countries dis-
cussing how each tackled mutual problems such as slums.

We were getting to know Italy in a way impossible when
doing the usual tourist rounds. And we liked it. Especially
the attitude of public officials, high commissioner, direttore,

41

42 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

architetto, and all. They were like children showing off
favorite toys.

"You know," I mused to Laura, "the way Baratono, De la
Ville, and Carnelli strutted their stuff makes me wonder if
their program isn't sort of a dictator's stunt. Most of the
capital for it comes from the Insurance Institute, which gets
its money through compulsory payments by all the people.
Then, too, it wasn't until the Fascists grabbed power that
slum clearance spread. You remember that the jobs the King
started back in the i88o's never got around to the Carita
District, although it was on the original schedule. Maybe the
Fascists are using slum clearance like the old Romans used
circuses— to pander to the people in order to stay in power."

"That may be," Laura shot back, "but there's a lot of
difference between throwing people to savage beasts and
saving them from savage slums."

"All right, all right," I placated her. "I thoroughly agree.
But what I'm driving at is this: aren't the compulsory methods
being used by the Fascists in Naples— and they seem to find
them necessary— totally unsuited to us in America?"

"Of course they are," Laura replied, "in more respects
than one. Here all children are herded to state camps. We
send ours as Girl Scouts and Boy Scouts. True, there aren't
many Girl Scout or Boy Scout troops in our slum districts,
though. When you make these comparisons, you get sort of
bewildered. I feel all mixed up."

"Well," I said, "the way it looks to me, there are phases
of slum clearance, even in our country, where compulsion
must be used. Take the purchase of land, for example. If
Judge Underwood had not ruled that the power of condem-
nation could be applied to buying the Techwood site, land-
owners would have held out for astronomical prices, and I
doubt if we could have gone ahead. Anyway, pretty soon we'll

Roman Circus 43

be in Rome, where we should find out a lot more. I want to
talk with Allievi. Carnelli told me Allievi had much to do
with the King's first slum clearance in Naples and that he
now lives in Rome. I understand he is quite feeble but gets
a big kick out of reminiscing."

Time had flown as fast as our train had passed the olive
groves and vineyards of the beautiful Terracina and Fascati
regions. I looked out the window and saw that we were al-
ready in the outskirts of the Eternal City.

The Hotel de Russie Grand was just as we had left it in
1930. There were the colorful gardens where we break-
fasted each morning. The flowering shrubs and trees of the
adjoining Palatine Hill were as lovely as ever. From our
windows we saw the familiar Cleopatra's Needle in the
Piazza del Popolo, only a stone's throw from the historic
Tiber.

The morning after our arrival, I renewed my acquaintance
with Alexander Kirk, counselor of our Embassy, who had
helped arrange my audience with II Duce four years before.
I explained the purpose of our visit and said that, first of all,
I was extremely anxious to meet Lorenzo Allievi, the con-
tractor who had worked on slum clearance in Naples during
the cholera epidemic of the eighties. I also asked to see some
of the Case Popolari of Rome. Cecil Ma thews, of the Em-
bassy staff, was assigned as our interpreter and guide.

Upon returning to the hotel, I found A. Edward Stuntz,
of the Associated Press, waiting for an interview. We had an
interesting chat over a bottle of wine, and Stuntz gave me
some excellent background material on the Italian view
toward public housing.

II Duce, it seemed, divided housing into three parts, some-
what as Caesar had divided Gaul. Mussolini's were Hell,
Purgatory, and Heaven. "Hell" was for the mendicants and

44 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

unemployables. They were housed in barracklike buildings
with common halls for sleeping, eating, and sanitation.
Erected and maintained by the State, while the standard was
low, "Hell" was at least clean.

"Purgatory" gave the unemployed, who were temporarily
out of work, a rather better break than "Hell." Here families
were separated in blocks and thus had some degree of privacy.
However, kitchens, baths, and lavatories were in common
use.

"Heaven" was built as a complete community for those
too poor to pay the rent of private developments, yet above
the type of tenants in "Purgatory" and "Hell." These
"Heavens" included schools, playgrounds, infirmaries, ma-
ternity wards, and day nurseries. The living quarters pro-
vided complete privacy, having their own kitchens and
sanitary facilities. Parents were awarded prizes for the
cleanest homes, and children were taught hygiene. While
obviously unworkable in a democracy, I had to admit that
this sliding-scale system of housing the poor had its points.

The following afternoon, as I was told that no interpreter
would be needed, I went alone to Lorenzo Allievi's home on
Via A. Farnese. Though right in the city, it was much like a
villa. There was a massive entrance door, great windows
with closed blinds, and a wrought-iron balcony. An aged
woman answered my ring and led me to the high-ceilinged
room where Allievi was seated.

He beckoned me to sit beside him, and as he cordially
grasped my hand firmly, I had the feeling that his long fingers
would reach twice around mine. Then in the dim light I saw
his eyes. They were ringed with bluish circles, but dark and
smiling in his sallow, cadaverous face.

"You want to talk with me about slums?" he inquired with
a strong accent. "You want to know what happened in

Roman Circus 45

Naples? I haven't thought about those days much lately. They
were so long ago," he sighed, "and no one asks me any
more."

As I posed some questions, this courtly, friendly, aged
grandee seemed to sit up a little straighter. His words be-
came stronger and more distinct, and I understood his
English better.

"In 1884," he began, "cholera was killing the people of
Naples, all kinds, the high and the low. The doctors couldn't
stop it, and King Umberto stepped in. He had to, or lose
most of his subjects in the south. There was no telling how
far the pestilence would spread. Some of the church officials
went to Naples with the King."

Allievi got up feebly and took two volumes from the book-
lined wall.

"Here are the contracts." He slapped the books together
with a startling bang. "They give the facts. You're a busi-
nessman. Facts are what you want, not a lot of fancy recollec-
tions by an old man."

"I shall be very thankful," I said.

"I didn't start the Naples job. It was one of my relatives,
Antonio Allievi, from Milano. The problem was stupendous,
and its solution a colossal undertaking. Luckily a law had
been passed in 1865, and strengthened in 1879, that gave
cities the right to regulate building. It was first decided to
go ahead with small contracts, but that didn't work; the job
was much too big. On October 3, 1888, one big contract was
let, backed by a syndicate of all the banks in Italy. The state
gave 75,000,000 toward the total estimated cost of
250,000,000 gold lire. That included land, streets, sewers,
and all construction.

"The work dragged on for years. The trouble wasn't just
organization. A main difficulty was that the economy of the

46 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

country changed from free trade between 1884 and 1890.
This stimulated the building of houses in Rome, Genoa, and
Turin. The consequent demand for labor and materials in
the north made them hard to get in the south. Besides, the
capital charges were so heavy during construction and
tenanting that interest ate up the government's 75,000,000
lire in the first five years. Another trouble was a law per-
mitting real-estate banks to do speculative financing. They
in turn, tried to boss the contractors. Things got so bad that,
by 1892, the banks chucked up the whole business, and the
ship sank. I was made manager in 1894. A second contract
was signed in 1894, and then a third in 1897. A big job takes
lots of paper work, you know."

As he talked, Allievi kept flipping the pages of the con-
tract books with his long fingers. Though I guessed that he
hadn't referred to them for many years, he found the data
he wanted unerringly.

"I was thirty-six at the time," he continued. "Just the
right age to take hold. Anyone older is all washed up!" That
gave me a start because I didn't feel a bit "washed up."
Allievi continued: "It is true now as it was then: the world
is made for young men.

"I found that houses for about six thousand people had
been completed. There also were many more foundations in,
and several buildings under roof. We had 14,000 workers, and
I did the best I could with what I had. The very worst pest-
holes were cleaned up. We never reached the Carita District
because state help didn't continue long enough. Also, it was
not the kind of job for private capital in the first place.

"By 1900 the ship we had plugged up in 1894 sank again.
All assets were turned over to the Bank of Italia. With
5,000,000 lire coming in each year from the houses then
rented, and writing off most of the investment, the project

Roman Circus 47

was put on a sound basis. And what did we learn? Just this:
slum clearance can't be done with private funds. Poor people
haven't the money to feed and clothe themselves, let alone
pay a rent sufficient to cover capital charges. That's what I
learned. I learned what cannot be done."

Allievi spoke the last words slowly, letting each one sink
in. His chin dropped to his chest, his hands were still, and
his sad eyes seemed to study the delicate pattern of his Aubus-
son rug. The reverie lasted but a moment.

"But you," he said, "don't want to know what cannot be
done. You want to know what can be done. Maybe I can
help you. Maybe I can give you something to think about."
Allievi 's enthusiasm ran away with him once more. He
picked up a pad and pencil.

"Look, this is a slum," and he drew a large square. "Now,
this is where the middle-class people live," and he drew a
smaller square. "Finally, here is where the rich folks have
their homes," and the square he drew was the smallest of the
three.

"When people get richer they want better houses and
better clothes. In your country they also want better automo-
biles. The old clothes they give away. Now what happens?
The people who are given the old clothes get at least better
than they had. Those who trade for the secondhand houses
and automobiles get better houses and autos than they had,
or naturally they wouldn't trade. Do you see my point? Every-
one gets something better when a middle-class man moves up
and builds a home among the rich folks. He has his new fine
home, which vacates his old. Some family moves up from the
slums to occupy it. Then the slum house is destroyed. Simple,
isn't it? Just see to it that people who can afford to do so build
better homes. Next, let their old homes, still in pretty good
shape, go to the slum dwellers. Then tear down the slums."

48 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

Some theory that! I stared at the old man in surprise. In
the years ahead I would hear it dusted off, in America, as a
highly original idea. That it never worked anywhere made
no difference to those who advanced the theory back home.
Their object was to confuse thinking and thus slow down
slum clearance. That it won't work is simply because the rich
are counted in the thousands while the poor number in the
millions. The whole reasoning is absurd.

And yet here was this old man, who had seen what public
housing can do for the poor, deluded by this myth. But I
had learned much from him that was sound, and most of his
thinking was true as his next words proved.

"The world is getting better," he said as I got up to go.
"It will be better still when all the slums are gone."

Allievi gathered up the two old contract books. He held
them horizontally, as one does the Bible sometimes.

"Will you permit me to give you these?" His long fingers
held the books fondly. "They are in Italian, and I'm afraid
you won't find them of much use. Mostly they cover the legal
angles of what I did. But this map shows where we worked
in Naples."

I was too dumfounded at this generous gesture to speak.

"Wait," he said with a warm smile. "I should like to write
your name and mine in them. And the date, too." With a
flourish, he inscribed both volumes at his Florentine desk.
"Here, with my sincere best wishes to you and your great
country." I noted he had not included the Roman numeral
XII after the date as loyal Fascists did to show how long they
had been in power.

We walked to the door, which was opened by the white-
haired woman who had greeted me. A shaft of sunlight caught
Allievi's face. His smile was like a benediction. Again our

Roman Circus 49

hands clasped. Slowly I drove back to the Russie and went to
the garden to collect my thoughts.

Was there anything to the fact that Allievi omitted the
Fascist Roman numeral XII, and merely wrote " 18/7/34" as
the date in the books he gave me? Was that his way of saying,
"I am not a Fascist"?

It was too early in the trip to make valid comparisons with
our visit in 1930. Also housing studies were bringing me
closer to the grass roots this time than commercial building
studies had before.

What about the leaders of the two countries, Roosevelt and
Mussolini? This was not just idle speculation. I had discussed
Mussolini with Roosevelt, who was then governor of New
York, while seated next to him at an informal 'possum supper
in Georgia in November, 1930, shortly after having seen
II Duce.

Roosevelt's questions about Italy were casual. So I referred
to the session with II Duce only incidentally. But Roosevelt
wanted to know what sort of a "guy" I found Mussolini, say-
ing he liked to hear about leaders, whether or not he agreed
with them.

As memories crowded back about our long discussion so
many years ago, I fell to wondering about America and Italy,
Roosevelt and Mussolini, and how they fitted into slum clear-
ance now. How long would a country that seemed to delight
in the antics of its Duce stick to slum clearance as an instru-
ment of national policy?

But what about our country and slum clearance? Did Presi-
dent Roosevelt know more about it than the single section
of the NIRA that got our program started in order to make
jobs to help solve the depression? And would slum clearance
be dropped when full employment came again?

50 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

Surely that might well become one of the great issues of
our day. Time would tell. It was way too early for any con-
clusions yet. I'd better get back to my wife. It was my guess
that Laura's afternoon tour of museums couldn't compare
to my talk with Allievi and the daydreams that followed.

Alexander Kirk phoned the next day to say Harry Hopkins
was in Rome and wanted to talk to me in the Embassy at
three o'clock about the housing studies I was making. I
quickly accepted. Cecil Mathews arrived at the hotel soon
after, and we headed for the local headquarters of the Case
Popolari.

There we met Ing. Comm. Innocenzo Constantini, Diret-
tore Generale dell Institute per le Case Popolari di Roma.
He was all that his name and titles implied— a stuffed shirt.
But he had capable assistants, and we got right down to the
business at hand with him and his staff.

It developed that there were around 82,000 people living
in Rome's older public housing. What was now being built
was costing 10 per cent more than normal commercial con-
struction because they had to hustle to house those being
moved from slums between the Colosseum and the Victor
Emmanuel Monument as a new main avenue was hurriedly
being cut through the district. Although the work was rushed,
it couldn't keep pace with the families displaced for the new
avenue. So four hotel-like structures were hastily erected,
each in a separate quarter of the city. A hotel housed about
a thousand families. At first a general kitchen was used, with
lots of stoves and a common eating room. But this didn't
work out as the women objected to other women seeing what
they cooked. So a compromise was made by cutting up the
general kitchen into smaller ones for every three or four

Roman Circus 51

families. Each housewife had her own two charcoal rings for
cooking and a separate sink.

Construction contracts were let after Constantini's own
estimators had totaled the probable hours of labor and quan-
tities of materials. Then they estimated the jobs themselves
and set a high and a low price. This was kept secret, and all
bids above or below those two figures were thrown out.

I was puzzled at this, to say the least. It was obvious that
Constantini would not accept the higher bids. However, if a
bid was below their lower estimate, why, I asked, didn't they
make the contract and save the extra money? But Constantini
said no. They had found that was as bad business as paying
too much. His estimators were skilled men and knew what
each job should run. They even had their own testing labora-
tories for materials and their own brickyards. If a contractor
tried to build too cheaply, he would skimp on the specifica-
tions to keep from losing money. Consequently, Constantini's
policy was to deal only with those builders whose proposals
made sense to his estimators. They called in the contractor
closest to their middle figure and then dickered with him.

In Rome, financing, management policies, and rents fol-
lowed about the same pattern as in Naples. Here, too, the
incidence of tuberculosis was reduced, being in the Case
Popolari only one-fifth of that in the slums.

Constantini brought out some other interesting figures.
The birth statistics showed that twenty-three babies were born
per annum to one thousand people in the slums, while in the
Case Popolari the rate was only sixteen. Since a dictator's
power rests upon the size of his armies, he naturally favors a
high birth rate. I therefore inquired whether the lower birth-
rate in the public housing displeased the Chief of Govern-
ment.

"Yes, II Duce wants more babies everywhere," Constantini

52 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

replied, his face clouding. "We encourage families to have
children. The state offers cash benefits and provides free
maternity care. I wish that the birth rate was higher in our
Case Popolari. But the final result is not too bad. For, you
see, deaths in the Case Popolari are only eight per thousand
against seventeen in the slums. Since our public housing has
three-quarters as many births as the slums and only half as
many deaths, the balance is very favorable indeed."

Thus the poor were benefited, and Mussolini got his
armies, anyway.

Mathews seemed to enjoy translating Direttore Constan-
tini's little speech, which was delivered with many appropri-
ate gestures. Later I checked to make certain that Mathews's
figures were correct and found they were. Since it was still
several hours before I was to see Hopkins, I suggested that we
inspect some housing. After prolonged expressions of appre-
ciation all around, Mathews and I left and picked up Laura
at the Russie. Architetto Giorgio Guili, from Constantini's
office, came along to make our survey official.

Our first stop was at the Albergo Popolare, one of the four
hotels providing temporary shelter for families displaced by
the work on the new avenue through the city. It looked not
unlike a Florida East Coast hotel of the iSgo's, but of stucco
instead of wood. The rambling wings were three or four
stories high, with a sizable porch here and there. The build-
ing was topped by a clock tower.

The main floor was similar to that of any other hotel except
that it was as plain and bare as a jail corridor. It led directly
to the common kitchen, which had been cut into smaller
rooms, as Constantini had told us. It was around noon, and
each of the kitchens had its quota of bustling housewives.
Most of them acted rather sullen, as if they resented our
presence as well as that of their neighbors. Arsenic leaves

Roman Circus 53

hung on a wall, discoloring it. Guili told us that arsenic in
that form was supposed to kill bugs, but he doubted it. I
refrained from asking what it might do to children.

We inspected the two-story group houses that were nearing
completion around the hotel. Well sited as part of the larger
project, the floor plans developed the greatest possible square
footage into livable area. The materials used were inexpensive
yet long-lasting.

As families moved from the Albergo into these smaller
units, the central building would have served its purpose as
a temporary hotel. Then it was to be converted into a com-
bination community center, school, day nursery, clinic, and
management office. The entire conception of the project was
so practical that I felt many of its ideas could be adapted for
use in America.

Guili said that nearby was a particular building of an
entirely new design that we mustn't miss seeing. So shortly
we found ourselves within a jagged circle of six- to nine-story
apartments, all connected and facing on central gardens and
a playground. In the middle was the building Guili had
mentioned— an eight-story structure of four wings making a
perfect cross. The wings were joined by an open spiral stair.
The floor levels were staggered, as with a ramp garage back
home. Thus the entrances to the central stairs were at half-
floor rather than full-floor intervals.

This interesting and unusual design had several practical
aspects. There were no public corridors and fewer stairs to
climb. The wings had but two families per floor, each with
a private entrance, and only one means of access, the cork-
screw stairs.

When I asked Guili if there wasn't objection to so many
stairs, he insisted that we go and see for ourselves. While
there appeared to be eight stories, we found that there were

54 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

but seven. This illusion came from the staggered floor design.
Where one wing would have ended below another, a laundry
drying yard was made in the space added when carrying the
parapet of the higher section to the lower, so that they would
conform in height.

In climbing the stairs, we discovered that the steps were
wide and the rise gradual. Made of gaily colored terrazzo, the
stairways were open on all sides except where the wings
joined. The climb to the top was not tiresome and well worth
the breath-taking view of the beautiful gardens below us.
I noticed built-in benches at intervals and was prompted to
ask Guili again if they found any resistance in renting the
upper apartments. His answer was that the higher apartments
were rented to young couples, and the lower floors to older
people with large families.

On the roof there was what looked like a large fire hydrant.
Since the building was of solid masonry, there seemed no
need for such elaborate protection. But upon inquiry, Guili
informed me that the water was used to clean the stairs. It
was turned on late each night and the water simply cascaded
down the stairway. No need to scrub each step on your knees.
Would I like to see it work? Since Laura and Mathews were
only halfway up the stairs, I declined and saved them a
drenching.

After dropping off Laura at our hotel, I headed for the
Embassy and my appointment with Ambassador Long and
Harry Hopkins. I had known Hopkins casually when he was
with the WPA in Atlanta, but had never met "Judge" Long,
as his lawyer friends called him. I found that he was as lanky
as Hopkins.

We gathered in a large living room, where Hopkins
sprawled in a big easy chair, while the Ambassador made the

Roman Circus 55

usual polite inquiries. Was the Embassy staff being useful in
the studies I was making? Was there anything more that they
could do? I assured him that everything was just fine, and
we got around to talking about what I had seen in Italy.
Then Hopkins suddenly sat up and began to take notice.

"Damn it!" he exclaimed. "I envy you, Palmer. You are
making a close study of housing while I'm only hitting the
high spots. I would give anything if I could stay abroad longer,
but I have to get back to Washington. The President sent
me over to look at housing and social-insurance schemes in
England, Germany, Austria, and here in Italy. Fat chance
on my whirlwind tour. Say, tell me about the Techwood job
you're doing in Atlanta."

Hopkins's alert mind was jumping around, as usual. After
listening for not more than a minute, he interrupted me.

"Have you seen what's going on here in the Pontine
Marshes?"

"I've heard about the wheat fields and the new cities," I
replied, "but I don't think that's quite in line with my study
of slums."

"It's great stuff they're doing," Hopkins said enthusias-
tically. "I drove through the district, and the cities they are
building from nothing will knock your eye out. It's not slum
clearance, no. But they are taking people from the relief
roles— thousands at a time— and resettling them on farms in
the Pontine because they can't make a living in the cities.
Like your slum-clearance business, it's finding the poor a
place to live. You simply must see it!"

"I'll fit it in somehow," I promised.

"And when you come back home," he suggested, "I want
us to get together in Washington. You can tell me what you
have learned that might fit in with my job on WPA, and
how you think our housing program should be set up. I hear

56 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

that you are taking lots of movies and I want to be sure to
see them. O.K.?"

''Right!" I readily agreed, happy to find someone from
back home who was as interested in housing as I was.

Early on the following Tuesday, July 24, our party set off
for the Pontine Marshes. Constantini had assigned an English-
speaking assistant, Benedetto Polizzi, to accompany us.
Mathews brought along his fourteen-year-old daughter,
Gisella, who sat wtih Laura and chattered away gaily in
English, though sometimes she couldn't find words fast
enough to suit her.

As with most engineers, Polizzi was not talkative. However,
I got him to tell us of the problem they had encountered in
controlling the water of the marshes. It had baffled the best
of them until Polizzi's boss, Signer Natale Prampolini, took
hold.

"You see the road we travel." The engineer pointed at the
magnificent highway we were following. "It is the famed
ancient Roman road, the Appian Way. It used to be flooded
by the Pontine Marshes, and malaria spread from them. They
cover about one-ninth of all Italy. Before the time of Caesar,
the marshes grew larger until the Appian Way became im-
passable; and their stench made the air unfit to breathe.

"Then Caesar took a hand, and many others, too, but none
succeeded over the centuries. At long last, II Duce"— Polizzi
rolled his eyes in awe— "decided that something must be
done and placed Prampolini in charge."

Constantini's engineer was a methodical little man. His
sallow skin and dull eyes made him look as if he had been
in the marshes long enough to get malaria himself. But when
talking on his favorite subject, he came alive, his face colored,
and his dark eyes shone. He began to rattle off dates, showing

Roman Circus 57

the speed with which Prampolini worked. And so it went,
all the way to Littoria, our first stop, until my ears were
ringing.

Mile after mile beside the good roads we saw antlike proces-
sions of men pushing wheelbarrows of dirt from new drainage
canals. Polizzi said 160,000 persons had already moved into
the new towns and farmhouses. Within the year, between
60,000 and 70,000 more would have been transplanted from
the squalor and overcrowding around Venice in the north to
the farms and new towns of Pontino in the south.

Each unit in the development consisted of 140 farms fully
equipped with buildings, livestock, and farm implements.
Each settler paid half his crop to the government until he
got on his feet; then he could buy his farm on a twenty-five-
year basis. The main crop was wheat, which was good for a
loan at 75 per cent of the market price the day it was delivered
to the government granary. Shops in the cities were rented by
lot, a public drawing being held to determine who were to
be the merchants.

The sources of opposition to this mammoth project of land
and human reclamation had a familiar ring to me. The
farmers howled that the whole idea was bad because there
would be overproduction of food products. Landowners
howled that there was enough housing already. When the
state offered those who would conform to the development
scheme an outright grant of 3.8 per cent of the cost, or to
loan them the entire cost at 2i/£ per cent for forty-five years,
practically nobody accepted. So the state had no choice but
to do the job itself.

We hadn't forgotten about our little guest, Gisella, who
wanted to see the Balilla Camps. The one we visited was on
the ocean near Sabaudia. There we met Anna Crisci, officially

58 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

in charge of the Opera Nazionale Balilla, who shooed her
hundreds of little charges from their barracklike buildings to
march in review for us. The boys were all in identical shorts,
the girls in white jumpers. They stood rigid as the flag of
Italy flew over them from its tall pole near the ocean's edge.
On signal, the shrill shout of "Du-shay, Du-shay, Du-shay f
Du-shay, Du-shay!" burst suddenly upon us and as suddenly
stopped.

Anna Crisci didn't seem to be the sort to run such a
regimented show. She was middle-aged and motherly, and her
dark eyes softened as she let the children break ranks and
scamper over the beach to play in the water.

I asked about the inside of the barracks, and she took us
to one where a group of four- to six-year-olds were napping.
Sleepy eyes turned toward us as they rolled over on their
cots to see the visitors from a foreign land. I couldn't resist
the temptation to spring my idea of a Fascist salute. A shriek
went up, and so did every arm, followed by a pandemonium
of childish giggles.

Here were the children from the slums of Rome. They
were clean. They were healthy. They seemed to be happy.
But they were regimented to within an inch of their lives.
Training to be soldiers? I didn't know. But if so, there
wouldn't be much individual initiative in the armies of II
Duce.

Hopkins had been right. The Pontine was evidence that
much could be done to help people who were badly housed.
But it also showed me that great harm could come of it if
done under a dictator. I was silent and thoughtful as we
drove back to Rome.

6

NOT-SO-GAY
VIENNA

WE WERE on our way to Vienna on July 25 when
we heard the shocking news that Chancellor Engelbert Doll-
fuss of Austria had been assassinated the day before. This was
more than just another political murder, for it reminded the
world of the assassination, in 1914, of Archduke Ferdinand,
of the same country, which lighted the faggot that started
World War I.

I fell into conversation with a fellow passenger, Bronislas
Jonasch, an Austrian delegate to the League of Nations.
When he learned that I was an American, he had no hesita-
tion in talking about the tragedy, which was on everybody's
tongue.

"Yesterday," he said freely, "I was in Venice with my good
friend, the Vice-Chancellor of Austria, Prince von Starhem-
berg. A few days remained of our holiday before the Prince
must return to Vienna to be there while the Chancellor was
away. You see, Dollfuss was leaving to confer with Mussolini
next week. The Prince and I were enjoying ourselves at the
Lido when the horrible news came. The Prince, now the
Acting Chancellor, flew back to Austria last night."

"What," I inquired, "does this signify?"

"The Nazis are making a Putsch" Jonasch replied em-

59

60 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

phatically. "They did not want to move yet. But when their
spies learned that Dollfuss and Mussolini were to have a
secret conference, they had to act. They killed Dollfuss to
keep him from making a pact between Austria and Italy."

"Does that mean war?"

"No, not now," Jonasch said. "The Nazis are not ready. But
they know the people of Austria look to the Italians for help.
Hitler had hoped for an Anschluss but found that it could
not be brought about by peaceful means. So he decided to
use force. This is his first step."

We found Vienna under martial law, very tense and with
barbed-wire barricades everywhere. World War II was in the
making.

After we had unpacked at the Hotel Bristol, I went to see
Tom Hughes, commercial attach^ at our legation. Despite
the crisis, he arranged an appointment with Dr. Musil, the
grand old man of Austrian housing, and assigned Boxberg
from our legation as my interpreter.

We found Dr. Musil calmly carrying on as though nothing
much was happening in the world except the housing of
those people who could not house themselves. His genial
manner, wide blue eyes, ruddy round face topped by a bulg-
ing forehead, and squat frame combined to make him seem
like a friendly genie straight from a book of children's fairy
tales.

Instead of needing to ask questions to get Musil going, I
found him way ahead of me. He began to reel off figures by
the yard. I interrupted at the first chance and said that,
while I appreciated his desire to help me, a lot of his time
would be saved if he just gave me some published informa-
tion covering the statistics. Dr. Musil was such an interna-
tional authority on housing that I wanted to hear his own
experiences rather than someone else's figures.

Not-So-Gay Vienna 61

"Has your basic policy on housing," I inquired, "varied
with changing governments?"

"No, of course not," he unhesitatingly replied. "The fact
that poor people do not have enough money to pay for decent
housing, and if left in slums menace the state, is so generally
admitted by all political parties that I wonder why you ask?"

"I raised the question," I explained, "because in America
private business does the housing and feels that government
should keep entirely out of the field. The argument is that
even slum clearance by the state will eventually lead to
socialism or Bolshevism."

"That is very interesting," Musil said, "because it was our
own fear of Bolshevism that stimulated the housing program.
You see, Austria is dependent on export trade. Yet it must
compete with other countries that are protected by tariffs,
and also have great advantages in raw materials and modern
machinery. These difficulties are partly met by paying low
wages. But to pay low wages and still keep workmen satisfied,
you must keep their rent low, too. With no export trade after
the World War, and with much of our territory taken from
us, we were forced to an internal economy. And we had to
move quickly. Our population was steadily falling. People
left because there were no jobs. Many of those who stayed
were unemployed. Social and political unrest invited the
Russians. The only way to keep Bolshevism out was to make
jobs."

"And construction," I put in, knowing the answer, "makes
more jobs than any other form of endeavor."

"Yes," Dr. Musil agreed. "Even with a decrease in popula-
tion, we needed more homes because those who left the
country were mostly single people. And besides, the many
marriages after the war— when the soldiers came home— had
greatly increased the number of families. Then, too, there

62 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

was terrible misery in the Vienna slums. Three-quarters of
our houses were of one room, and a small room at that. High
rents forced many families to take in lodgers. Conditions
were so bad that we converted troop barracks into housing.
So, you see, there was the economic reason. But the political
reason was even more pressing. The people were beginning to
feel that any change would be better than what they had.
Revolution threatened. Bolshevism.

"We reasoned," Dr. Musil continued, "that if people had
decent homes at rents they could afford, the rising clamor for
change would die down because our citizens would be more
content. If the family is the foundation of the state, then it
is the function of government to see that healthy, happy
family life goes on. And to save ourselves, we had to work
fast. Rents were so high that they frequently took over half
of the workmen's wages. The government had to step in.
The program went so well that more than 64,000 houses have
been completed. It was through such a program that we
escaped Bolshevism.

"While housing bridged the gap in our economy for over
a decade, it is not a device that can be used forever. With
our building program nearly complete, and with export
trade not revived because of world conditions, we still have
about thirty per cent unemployed. Agitators are busy among
our people again. The lamentable assassination of our Chan-
cellor is tragic evidence of the way things are going."

I expressed my sincere regrets and asked Dr. Musil just
one more question.

"Where does the money come from for all this housing
with Austria's economy so depressed?"

"It comes," he replied, "from what we call the Wohn-
bausteuer, or housing tax. This tax is graduated so that the
people who have lavish homes pay the highest rate, and

Not-So-Gay Vienna 63

those who have frugal homes pay the lowest rate. Last year
it worked out so that the rent tax from the tenants of the
eighty-six most expensive apartment buildings just about
equaled that paid by 350,000 workers. The Wohnbausteuer
has produced enough revenue so that our housing program
has been carried out entirely without loans."

My head was beginning to spin. This method of financing
sounded like a sleight-of-hand performance and would bear
looking into. But I did not want to take any more of the
friendly doctor's time and said good-by with regret. As I
glanced back, I glimpsed the grand old man of housing, Herr
Doctor Engineer Musil, dully staring out the window.

The burial of the late Chancellor of the Austrian Republic
the next day was without disturbance, but it held all the
drama of the ages. Arriving at the place reserved for the
Legation of the United States, we found that our seats were
almost beside the casket. It was soon borne to a gun carriage
and, behind eight black horses, slowly moved away. The
measured thump, thump, thump of the death march beat
beneath the funeral dirge and the muffled drums. The great
bell of St. Stephen's Cathedral— cast in 1683 from Turkish
cannon— tolled its booming note for hours. The air seemed
to vibrate with an overwhelming sense of imminent danger.
What would become of this country and traditionally gay
Vienna, now steeped in sorrow? Even greater tragedy awaited
its people.

With Austria in mourning, I had some spare time on my
hands and spent it in studying the material Dr. Musil had
given me on the Wohnbausteuer. Its basic principle was that
those who spend more money on their living quarters must
pay higher taxes. In the ten years since its inception it had
produced over $100,000,000. For three of these years a total

64 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

of $13,000,000 was spent annually for housing. This equaled
20 per cent of the city's entire revenue. Wohnbausteuer tax
rates ranged all the way from about $.40 to $25.00 a month.

Landlords were prohibited from absorbing this tax and
were paid 10 per cent to act as agents of the government in
its collection, not exceeding $5.00 a month. Business inter-
ests argued that the money for housing should not have been
taken from taxes but should have been financed by loans.

The proponents of the Wohnbausteuer countered that
rents must be kept so low that income would not carry the
capital charges; that in the final analysis the funds must come
from tax moneys, so why burden the projects with the addi-
tional costs of interest and amortization? And, anyway,
where would they get the loan needed? That seemed a valid
question, for private business had been letting housing strictly
alone.

With no capital charges to meet, tenants paid only enough
to cover the necessary services: water, sewer tax, chimney
cleaning, lighting of public space, insurance, maintenance of
buildings and grounds, plus the cost of administration. This
made the monthly rent per living unit about $3.70 on a
typical workman's accommodation of approximately 400
square feet, including anteroom, toilet, one large living-
sleeping room, and a combined kitchen-dining room.

On Monday, July 30, Boxberg and I got going early, be-
cause I had only a day in which to see Vienna's urban housing
in the morning and the suburban after luncheon. Our first
stop was the Karl Marx Hof, a mile-long building arcaded
over intersecting streets. The structure was like a continuous
chain with links forming spacious interior playgrounds and
gardens. The six thousand residents of this immense building
comprised a nearly complete community under one roof.

Not-So-Gay Vienna 65

Women were gossiping over the mechanical washers in the
laundries, running their clothes through the great steam
mangles, hanging their wash in the gas driers. Children were
studying and playing in the kindergarten we visited, which
was furnished much like those we had seen in Italy. A minia-
ture home was set up in the center of the room. The Frdulein
in charge was teaching a group how to keep the playhouse
clean.

Next we drove to the even larger George Washington Hof.
What extremes in political ideology, I thought with a smile-
George Washington and Karl Marx. Of less severe architec-
tural design, the George Washington Hof housed ten thou-
sand people. Every flat had a balcony and at least one room
that caught the sun. The central wading and swimming pools
were used for ice skating in season.

During lunch I was told of the brickyards, sand pits, and
limestone quarries the city owned; how streetcars, as well as
trucks, were used to transport materials; and of the way con-
tracts were let by competitive bids, with the Gesiba, the
wholly owned municipal corporation, furnishing all building
supplies.

As we drove to Leopoldau, designed by Richard Bauer, a
great houser of middle Europe, I learned that so much un-
employment and such a drastic shortage of food had faced
Austria in 1919 that about a thousand subsistence homesteads
were built in the suburbs of Austrian cities. Lack of funds,
and protests by farm organizations that the projects would
compete with them, slowed up the program, but it was re-
vived, because of returning unemployment, in 1932.

By this time we were approaching acres of green meadows,
fruit trees, and cottages. Started just two years before,
Leopoldau now had 425 completed homesteads. The cottages
were built in pairs, straddling lot lines to save one exterior

66 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

wall. The front and back of each duplex were of masonry,
but the end walls were of wood and easily removable for
construction of additions, when needed. A loft remained
unfinished for future use.

The tenants furnished much of the labor but worked in
groups to prevent too much attention being given to the
specific home each would finally occupy. The cost per dwell-
ing had been estimated at $1,019 but ran only $825 because
the workers produced 20 per cent greater output building
homes for themselves than when previously working for
straight wages. That was a little detail well worth remem-
bering.

Each unit had slightly less than one acre, divided one-fifth
for the house and flower garden, one-fifth for vegetables, one-
fifth for fruit trees, and the remainder for a co-operative cash
crop marketed by the community as a whole. This common
area was unfenced to facilitate cultivation. Hedges near the
homes were flower-bearing to provide food for the honeybees.
Lectures on farming were given three times a week.

The settler paid 10 per cent down, which his labor during
construction usually produced. There was no interest the
first year, 2 per cent the second and third, 3 per cent the
fourth and fifth, and from then on 4 per cent until the debt
was liquidated. These payments included i per cent for
amortization.

The people were all busy and happy, the children active
and gay. Every home was wide open to us. The many we
looked in at random were well maintained.

After a full day, which kept me busy taking notes, I invited
my host, Doctor Engineer Herman Neubacher, director gen-
eral of Vienna's public housing, and his assistants to have a
"quickie" before parting. While at the Bristol bar, Neubacher

Not-So-Gay Vienna 67

glanced at a late newspaper and turned to me with a wry
smile.

"I am now in jail," he quietly observed. "According ta
this paper, I am in the custody of the police for involvement
in the Nazi Putsch that resulted in the Chancellor's assas-
sination."

"Impossible!" his assistants exclaimed.

I was nonplused at this surprising turn of events and
could only suggest another drink. It was, however, politely
refused, and everyone clammed up. Much later I learned the
complete story. Dr. Neubacher was arrested and thrown into
a concentration camp for more than eighteen months. Fol-
lowing the Anschluss, he became the first mayor of Vienna
under the Nazis.

So perhaps Dr. Neubacher had not been quite as calm as
he seemed when he read me the account of his arrest.

7

MOSCOW
MENU

WE STOPPED in Warsaw en route from Vienna to
Moscow. Although the war had ended sixteen years before,
its destruction was still evident on every hand. Thousands
were living in barracklike buildings with a dozen people to
each room. Less than 7 per cent of the rent money was being
collected. Poland, from our quick glance, was a shambles. On
the edge of the city a few multistory apartments were going
up, but that was about all.

We crossed the border and transferred to a Russian train
on its wide-gauge rails. Entering the diner that evening, we
were handed an eight-page menu on newsprint between stiff
covers. The various items were printed in columns of Russian,
English, and French. I counted sixty-three varieties of hors
d'oeuvres, thirty-one soups, eggs in every possible style, in-
cluding foo yung. Also listed were all kinds of meats, fowl,
fish, cheeses, and sweets. The untidy tablecloth and napkins
were ragged. Unappetizing odors came from behind a half
partition that hid a wood-burning cookstove. So this was the
crack Negoreloje-Moskau Express!

"What a wonderful choice of soups 1" Laura exclaimed
hungrily. "The Russian borsch ought to be best. Let's try
that."

68

Moscow Menu 69

When a waiter in keeping with the unkempt diner came
for our order, I asked for the hot borsch, but he shook his
head.

"Vegetable soup?" I inquired.

Again he shook his head.

"Bean soup?"

"No."

"What kind of soup do you have?"

"No soup."

That took care of the thirty-one soups. Laura examined the
menu and then looked up at the waiter hopefully.

"Do you have any eggs?"

"No eggs."

"Fish?" Laura asked.

I knew the answer to that one. "No fish."

"Well," I said as I realized that the menu was expressly
printed as propaganda for the outside world, "what do you
have to eat?"

"Stew."

"Anything else?"

"Bread."

"Anything else?"

"Tea."

We told the waiter to shoot the works.

The stew came in broken-handled skillets direct from the
stove and was served without plates. Each portion consisted
of a single lump of meat and one boiled potato. They looked
so unsavory that I thought a snort of vodka might help to
get them down.

Oh, yes, they had vodka, both the wheat and the potato
variety. I asked the waiter to bring what he thought best,
as Laura and I had never tasted it. Having observed, the day
before in Warsaw, how Soviet aviators and Polish officials

70 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

toasted each other back and forth, we knew that vodka was
taken neat. So when our liqueur-sized glasses were served, we
followed the custom.

The first taste was not unlike Georgia corn whisky, which
slowly trickles with a warm glow to the stomach. But the
similarity ended there, for the vodka never seemed to reach
the digestive system. It started down the throat and then
exploded in the esophagus.

That menu was typical of Russia. Its bountiful variety of
entrees were simply meant to show what it would be nice to
have— if they only had it. But they did not expect you to be
such a fool as to believe that they really did have it— once
you were inside Russia and could see for yourself.

Back in our compartment we found that the fumes of tea,
samovars, Russian tobacco, and the Russians themselves, had
us gasping for fresh air, so I raised the window for the night.
On awakening the next morning, our whole compartment
had turned from nondescript green to reddish brown. All
that could be seen of my wife in the lower berth was the moist
outline of two closed eyes. Everything else blended in the
dust from the steppes of Russia that had blown in during the
night. We dug ourselves out and fled to a breakfast of caviar,
black bread, and tea.

At the station in Moscow, barefooted women took over
the train. They, instead of men, were the wheel tappers,
brakemen, and general utility crew. A fleet of ancient
Lincolns had been provided by Intourist, the Soviet Travel
Bureau, to handle the passengers from their "crack" train.
The man and wife who had been in the compartment next
to ours objected as much as we did when porters started to
put the luggage in one Lincoln and a lot more of us in
another. We didn't want the luggage out of our sight, and as
the other couple was also headed for the Hotel Metropole,

Moscow Menu 71

we arranged that the four of us, with our joint luggage,
would be transported in one Lincoln.

Thus we stood next to each other while in line to show
our passports when registering at the hotel. The wife of the
Russian became increasingly nervous as we waited. Finally
she asked Laura to step aside with her for a moment, and I
watched as they conversed in whispers. When they resumed
their places, the Russian woman seemed more at ease. My
wife later explained to me that the woman wanted to tell
Laura that her traveling companion was not yet her husband,
so that Laura would not be surprised when they registered
under different names.

Russia was living up to advance notice of unorthodoxy in
many ways.

Polished, gracious Loy W. Henderson, secretary of the
Embassy, welcomed us. After the usual felicitations, he said
he had just the man for our guide and interpreter— Philip
Bender, on the Embassy staff although a member of the
Russian secret service. We, of course, weren't supposed to
know that he belonged to the OGPU. Anyhow, Henderson
explained, it was especially helpful to have a guide with
inside connections because he could take us where an official
with less influence would hesitate to venture.

Then I visited with egg-bald, grinning William C. Bullitt,
our first ambassador to the Union of Soviet Socialist Repub-
lics. That afternoon, he said, he was presenting baseball
equipment to the Russians, and there would be a game. The
Embassy staff would play, and I was asked to help them out.

After lunch, Bullitt drove Laura and me to the playing
field, which looked like a hastily refurbished city dump.
Though awkward with the bat at first, the Soviet team soon

72 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

caught on. The Ambassador showed flashes of his former skill
at Yale. No accurate score of runs was kept; it was that sort
of game. I soon withdrew from active play to take movies,
as no one else was recording the first game of baseball in
Russia. Formal presentation of the equipment to the Russians
by the Ambassador ended the afternoon's sport.

That night after dinner, Laura and I went to the Park of
Culture and Rest, the northern sun still shining, to watch
the people of Moscow at play. At the entrance, two gardens
were so planted with small, contrasting flowers on a hillside
slope that they formed easel-like pictures of Stalin and
Kaganovich, his brother-in-law. The few people in the park
stood and gaped more than they used the primitive para-
phernalia provided for their amusement.

The most popular device was a spar about the size of a
telephone pole. Two six-foot uprights kept one end of the
spar about shoulder-high above the ground, with a steel rod
through its butt. The other end rested in a crutch of similar
uprights. But instead of a steel rod piercing the pole to
support it, this end lay on what was obviously an old inner
tube. The tip of the spar was fitted with an eighteen-inch
board and a leather harness that passed over the user's
shoulders and between his legs to secure his chest against
the board. When he was strapped in place, willing helpers
pulled the spar down on the inner tube as far as it would go
in its slingshot crutch, then released it with a shove, and the
rider found himself flying through the air with the greatest
of ease in a perfect parabola on the tip of the spar. When
he was past the zenith and coming down in an arc, I glanced
to see where the poor fellow's head would crash to earth. At
that point stood another mammoth slingshot uncocked, and
down came the spar on that inner tube. It gave to within a

Moscow Menu 73

couple of feet of the ground, then snapped into place, and
the rider circled back to the starting point, where he landed
safely on his feet.

Nothing we had yet encountered in Russia seemed normal
to us. Certainly not the amusements of the Park of Culture
and Rest. Nor the subway construction, which had resulted
in sunken pavements throughout the city. To add to our
bewilderment, when we returned to the Hotel Metropole
we found a shirt-sleeved orchestra playing in the ornate cen-
tral court where the elite of Moscow, in full evening dress,
were sitting down at midnight for their main meal of the day.

The next day I started digging into the story of housing
and found that a general program did not get under way
until 1928, eleven years after the Revolution. By that time
any sort of shelter was better than none at all.

Henderson had a schedule arranged that Bender and I
followed. F. P. Tockmechev, president of the Moscow Hous-
ing Co-operative, took us around. He was a friendly, seem-
ingly harmless fellow, and I got a kick out of the way his
pride kept letting the cat out of the bag.

He related with great gusto how the state encouraged
workers to save money for a 10 per cent down payment on
a co-operative housing project. The state would then put up
the remaining 90 per cent at i per cent interest and 90 years'
amortization. That is, 10 per cent down and 90 years to pay.

Tockmechev went on to prove how well the co-operative
scheme was going by citing worker response. They liked the
idea so much, it seemed, that many had saved, not a mere
10 per cent, or a miserly 20 per cent, but the whole 100 per
cent. What did the American gentleman think of that?
Wasn't it wonderful!

74 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

I had my doubts, so I innocently inquired where were
these co-operative projects that had been built.

The President of the Moscow Housing Co-operative
blandly admitted that there were none. The state, unfortun-
ately, had been unable to carry out its part of the deal since
it was unable to obtain the necessary materials.

Tockmechev's glee over the savings that had as yet pro-
duced no apartments for those who had saved ten times the
down payment, reminded me of the eight-page menu on the
"crack" Russian train. The workers had no homes, and the
dining car had no food.

Tockmechev explained that since all land was owned by
the state, there was no charge for land use and no taxes; no
interest during construction; no common kitchens or baths.
Then another "fact" popped out of his hat. He said that by
law the "sanitary norm" was not less than nine square meters,
ninety square feet, per person. That was another juicy item
that wasn't on the menu, for I remembered figuring out from
my study of the Russians' own published reports that their
housing projects averaged but thirty square feet per person.
That's just room enough for a single cot with a space two by
six left over for living, cooking, eating, and bathing.

The first project we visited had five-story, walk-up build-
ings that covered about 20 per cent of the site. The open
spaces were crossed by dirt walks. Untended masses of ragged
flowering shrubs were hemmed round by bark-covered log
rails. Here and there were benches under the trees.

Near the apartments were unpainted picket fences on
which knee-high felt boots were drying. Bedraggled women
shuffled along the dusty paths. They wore dark-colored aprons
over long skirts and under heavy, shoddy jackets. What
looked like dustcloths were wound around their heads.

Moscow Menu 75

Then we visited a creche, or "red corner." The building
was of wood, unsealed, and it was dark within. The children
were pasty-faced and dull-eyed, and though Laura tried to
prompt them, not one smiled. There was no color in the
single room; not even a picture of Stalin on the wall. The few
tables were bare boards, and there were not enough castoff
chairs to go round. It was a depressing scene, and we were
relieved when we left.

Next we inspected an apartment building that Tock-
mechev, surprisingly enough, suggested I choose at random.
Plaster was peeling from the walls of the narrow, unpainted
concrete stairs. The apartment we entered was better than
its outside promised. Though drab and unattractive, there
was more space than I had anticipated; at least, so it seemed
in the main living room. In addition, there was a combina-
tion kitchen and dining room, plus a bath. An elderly woman
was at home; her daughter and son-in-law were at work; her
two young grandchildren at the creche. That made three
adults and two youngsters living in two rooms. On leaving,
I glimpsed several folding cots stowed away under one of
the beds.

As we went to the fifth-floor laundry— clothes were dried
on the roof— I asked Tockmechev about tenant selection. He
said it was on the basis of need. Rents were 10-20 per cent
of income. But just a moment; he wanted to correct his
statement about tenant selection. It wasn't always given to
those who most needed it. Housing was also used as an incen-
tive to get workers to produce more. Factories had signs say-
ing that more productive workers would get higher pay and
better housing.

We found the laundry crowded with dilapidated, obsolete
machinery and driers. The cossack-bloused manager shrugged
and said that the laundry was not much used, anyway. From

76 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

what Laura and I had seen of the homes and the people,
this was not hard to believe.

I found Bender's presence especially helpful the next day
when I photographed Lenin's tomb in Red Square. Just the
month before, Ambassador Bullitt's secretary had been ar-
rested, held in police court for over an hour, and had the film
she had snapped of the tomb taken from her because she
had neither a permit nor a member of the OGPU accompany-
ing her.

When we came up to the entrance of the massive sepulcher,
Bender said a few words in Russian to the statuelike guards,
and they instantly stopped the long, shuffling line of people
filing past the mummified body of Lenin. The picture-taking
over, we went down the broad steps into the crypt. The
marble walls of the stairway were of an ultramarine shade I
have never seen before or since. It was highly polished and
translucent with blue-white facets that sparkled like dia-
monds in the indirect light. Lenin's body reminded me of the
wax figures at Madame Tussaud's in London.

The following morning, Loy Henderson asked if I would
be willing to confer with the Russians charged with building
the Palace of the Soviets. As it was to be a gigantic, office-
building type of structure, the architect was anxious to get
the ideas of a man in that business from America.

It so happened that while president of the National Asso-
ciation of Building Owners and Managers of the United
States and Canada in 1931, I'd had official correspondence
with the Amtorg Corporation, the trading company for
Russia, about the use of our association's professional serv-
ices in the design of office buildings. But nothing had come
of it.

Moscow Menu 77

To go into the problems of the Palace of the Soviets with
Russian officials would be interesting but, it seemed to me,
of little value. However, an appointment was made, and
later in the week, I had a session, which lasted for hours, with
Boris M. Yofan, chief architect for the construction of the
Palace of the Soviets by the Presidium of the Central Execu-
tive Committee of the U.S.S.R. The Russians went in for
window dressing even with their titles.

Yofan brought in a lot of his associates for our conference.
While he understood English fairly well and spoke it in-
differently, from the vacant looks of his helpers as the hours
dragged by, I doubted if any of them had the slightest idea
of what was going on. As for me, I was soon bored stiff. As
usual, the Russians were talking big plans and having only
a hazy idea of how to go about them. At one point I asked
Yofan about the design of the interior.

"The Great Hall," he replied, "will seat 21,000 people,
be 459 feet in diameter, and 328 feet high with no columns."

"But where in the building is this Great Hall to be?"

"In the middle."

"You mean that a i,365-foot-high building will be erected
around and above the Great Hall?"

"Certainly," Yofan replied without hesitation.

"How about carrying without columns all that super-
structure over the clean span of the 459-foot diameter
of the Great Hall?"

"We think it can be done by proper distribution of the
weight. What we are not sure of is how to design the foun-
dations. You see, the subsoil of Moscow is affected by the
Moscow River. Lately we have had some trouble in our sub-
way construction."

I knew about that little matter. I had seen the caved-in
streets in the center of the city while walking from the

78 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

Metropole Hotel to our Embassy. Nobody seemed to pay any
attention to the sunken pavements, and traffic simply avoided
those particular streets. I later learned that the superin-
tendents of subway construction had been summarily tried,
some of them shot, and the rest sent off to Siberia for counter-
revolutionary activities. In this case the poor devils had really
been convicted for not knowing how to build a subway, which
wasn't surprising since they had never built one before.

That was the "trouble" in subway construction to which
Yofan referred. Now in building the Palace of the Soviets, he
was obviously worrying about his own skin. But it was none
of my affair, and I was glad when I was at last able to get
away.

Why the Russians should be wasting time and energy on
such a weird project as the Palace of the Soviets instead of
sticking to the crying need for housing was beyond me. And
why were they building a subway when their transportation
problem could not compare with their housing problem?
There was no more reason for the subway, which went
nowhere in particular, than for the Palace of the Soviets. The
specifications for the Palace reminded me again of the elabo-
rate menu and the foodless dining car. Window dressing.

Our departure from Moscow had been scheduled for
August 7, but the Intourist Bureau notified us that our
reservations were for the following day.

When I asked the stolid woman clerk at the Metropole for
our passport, she seemed amazed.

"But, Mr. Palmer, I do not have your passport."

"Don't have our passport?" I said in surprise. "It was left
here, as required, when we registered."

"Yes," she admitted, "that is true. But we are required

Moscow Menu 79

to send all passports to the municipal government of Moscow,
the Mossoviet, to be examined. That's where yours is now."

"All right, let's send over and get it," I suggested. "There
is plenty of time before the train leaves this evening."

"But that is impossible," the clerk declared. "Today is a
Rest Day, the Mossoviet is closed. No one can get your pass-
port, and you will have to wait until tomorrow."

Here was trouble for sure. It would mean another day lost
from the all too few in Berlin. I was beginning to feel that
I couldn't get out of Moscow soon enough. There was no
use in arguing with the woman clerk. In this fix, I thought
of Bender. I phoned him at the Embassy, and he came over
to the hotel at once.

At first the obstinate clerk gave him the same song and
dance she had handed me. Then he suddenly switched from
English and snapped out a few words in Russian. The woman
stiffened, executed an abrupt about-face, and opened a drawer
behind her. Without a word of explanation, she yanked
out our passport and handed it to Bender. He snatched it
from her and passed it to me with a grim smile.

When Laura and I discussed the incident later, we decided
that the clerk had forgotten to send our passport to the
Mossoviet, and it was too late to correct her mistake when I
called for it as the Mossoviet was closed for the Rest Day.
Therefore, she would get in trouble if she gave it back to
us without the official stamp. But when Bender showed up,
she knew that he could get her into even greater trouble.
So she had chosen the lesser of two evils: trouble with the
Mossoviet rather than with the OGPU.

We were beginning to see another side of these Mongolian,
Asiatic people, a people so foreign to us that we could find
no common contact with them whatever. All of them seemed
to live in perpetual fear. It had always been so, from the

80 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

days of the Czars. Survival was uppermost, no matter by what
means. Agreements were not expected to be kept if later
found to be disadvantageous to either party. It was as much
part of the code of the Russian to save his own skin, regard-
less of his word, as it is part of our code to keep our word,
regardless of our skin.

It all summed up to the conclusion that the Russians
would do what they considered to be for their own best
interests at the time, regardless of pledges, and they expected
you to act in the very same way. To follow any other course,
such as keeping your word if it would hurt you to do so, was
so foreign to their training and experience that to them it
was incomprehensible.

As we pulled out of Moscow, I kept thinking of the Russian
bear that walked like a man, and of Boris Karloff in Franken-
stein. They were indeed very much alike.

We found ourselves the only non-Russians on the train.
All of the other compartments were occupied by Ambassadoi
Litvinov and his entourage. Here was a chance to observe
the upper-crust Russians at close quarters. The best oppor-
tunity came at dinner that night.

When we stepped through the door of the diner, the
steward held up a hand and growled, "Verboten." However,
as we saw two unoccupied seats, we chose to ignore his order.
Pushing by him, we sat down at a table with another couple
who were fairly well dressed in normal continental attire.
They glowered at us and continued their meal.

This time there was no eight-page menu for the dinner
was table d'hote. We could tell from the sound that those
in back of us were still on the soup course. The pair at our
table had arrived at the main entree of fricasseed chicken.
After separating the meat from the bones, they piled it on
the knife and consumed it in that unorthodox way. It was

Moscow Menu 81

not a simple feat since the chicken was covered with a butter
gravy.

Laura and I watched them anxiously as they tackled a salad
of cucumbers with oil dressing. Surely the slippery cucumbers
would slide off the knife. However, they weren't given the
chance, for the knife was used as a flipper and, with the mouth
held close to the plate, the cucumbers were expertly flipped
down the gullet.

After observing the common, bold use of toothpicks— not
covertly wielded behind the hand as in most European
countries— Laura and I escaped to our compartment without
mishap, either from staring at the diners or from having
busted in on Litvinov's entourage.

8

BERLIN HOUSING
SUBSIDY BUT—

"BECAUSE OF that senseless delay in Moscow," I
said to Laura, "I've missed an appointment at the German
Foreign Office."

We were in our rooms at the Hotel Adlon in Berlin. Laura
was writing to the children and looked up at rne archly.

"You were supposed to have a vacation," she pointed out.
"Remember, dear?"

"It's not in our luggage," I said with a grin. "Must have
forgotten to pack it when we left home."

"Bosh!" she said, and went back to her letter writing.

There was a knock on the door, and in came T. S. Wander
from the Nationale Radiator Gesellschaft, a subsidiary of
the American Radiator Company, who had very kindly
offered to make the rounds with me. Being in the building-
supply business and a long-time resident of Berlin, Wander
cut many corners in getting at the facts and was an effective
and friendly companion, interpreter, and guide.

Our first appointment was with Dr. Adolf Friedrichs,
president of one of the largest banks handling real-estate
financing. At his office we encountered an even sillier custom
than the Fascist salute in Italy. There the stiff arm was con-
fined to official contacts. In Berlin, however, everybody was
doing it, doing it, and snapping out, "Heil Hitler!"

82

Berlin Housing Subsidy But — 83

In morning suit, wing collar, and striped tie, Dr. Fried-
richs's informal manner contrasted with his dress. He volun-
teered that he could be most helpful if he discussed only the
part private funds played in financing public housing.

"You might say," he began, "that the Reich subsidizes
private institutions to get them to lend money for public
housing in much the same way the Reich subsidizes rents.
When it is found that tenants cannot pay the normal rent,
it is reduced to what they can afford. And for the private
lending institutions who claim that they cannot afford to
take a risk— many can and should but won't— the Reich re-
moves the risk.

"Here is how it is done," the banker explained. "The
Government Unemployment Insurance Company supplies
the first 25 per cent, or the risk capital. The next 35 per cent
is borrowed from a mortgage bank, which is guaranteed
against loss. The remaining 40 per cent comes from a private,
unguaranteed loan at 5 per cent. This latter loan holds an
underlying lien so secure that 60 per cent of the investment
in the entire project would have to be wiped out before any
loss could be suffered by private capital."

This big banker was certainly giving us the unvarnished
facts, and I listened intently.

"There is an interesting side light," he added. "Many of
the private lenders decry the subsidy that keeps rents down.
But they never object to the subsidy— and the guarantee of
their loans by the government is a subsidy— that keeps private
capital flowing into public housing."

"Are you familiar," I asked this enlightened capitalist,
"with the terms of the National Housing Act, which estab-
lished a Federal Housing Administration in the United
States last June?"

84 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

"Only in general," he replied. "It guarantees loans, too,
doesn't it?"

"Yes," I said. "The credit of our government is pledged
for much more than the 60 per cent your government as-
sumes. But our law requires that an insurance fund be built
up through premiums paid by the borrowers. It is believed
that this fund will furnish enough protection to forestall any
call on the government guarantee. However, without the
pledge of federal credit in the first place, the securities of
the Federal Housing Administration would have no market.
So it gets back to the same situation in both countries-
private funds flowing into housing only when guaranteed by
the government. Do you, Dr. Friedrichs, have a like ar-
rangement?"

"No, we haven't," he replied. "But let me ask you, if the
insurance fund built up by premiums from the borrowers
will prove adequate to protect your government, why didn't
your private moneylending institutions adopt the device first
and keep the government out of their field?"

Why not, I had often wondered myself.

"It has always been my impression," he went on, "that
capitalists in America feel the less the government has to do
with them the better. But it may well be in the United States,
as in Germany, that the viewpoint of private business is
largely influenced by forces it won't admit are there. I mean
that when afraid to take the risk itself, private business wel-
comes the government carrying that risk so long as private
business gets the returns. On the other hand, if the govern-
ment tries to keep any of the returns for itself, private busi-
ness claims interference in its field. Frankly, I can't see what
the outcome will be of this reluctance on the part of private
capital to assume the normal risks it has assumed in the past.
But here in Germany the result seems inevitable— more and

Berlin Housing Subsidy But — 85

more government in business, for which business can only
blame itself."

Wander and I drove to our next appointment and found
the major interest of Dr. Friedrich Schmidt, the Minister
of Works, was slum clearance.

"We can make more jobs with housing than with anything
else!" he exclaimed with conviction. "And when we combine
housing with slum clearance, we have the perfect made-work
program—making better homes and making better people!
Making better homes gives employment, not just where you
build, but where the materials come from, too— the forests,
the quarries, the brickyards, the steelworks, and on the rail-
roads that transport the materials." Dr. Schmidt's clear, gray-
blue eyes shone behind thick glasses. "And slum clearance
makes better people, especially the children. Sometimes the
old folks are too set in their ways to be reclaimed, but not
the children. They are like little plants. Move them from
the polluted, sour soil of the slums to the clean, fresh earth
of new housing, and they react as all living organisms do to
the sunshine. They bloom!"

After this poetic outburst, Dr. Schmidt gave us lots of
facts and figures before I returned to the Adlon.

I found a letter there from Clark Howell, which reported
that Techwood continued to drag. "It is slow business," he
wrote, "and I doubt that there will be much to show when
you return. The best part of it is that the opposition has
apparently surrendered to the inevitable, which means that
the work will go forward but with the usual government
red-tape delay."

Next day Wander took Laura and me to Neue Scholle, a
border city development. The homes were of masonry in-

86 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

stead of wood, the yards neatly fenced to keep the cows, pigs,
chickens, and ducks apart. Plots varied from 6,000 to 10,000
square feet and were well planted with fruit trees and orna-
mental shrubs. There was no common cash crop, and each
family sold its own surplus individually.

Title to all land remained in the city, which gave it control
for redevelopment to a different use if and when the need
arose. Only a leasehold right was sold to the tenant. Although
the leasehold estate could pass by inheritance, it could not be
sold. If the tenant wanted to move, the homestead reverted
to the city at a reasonable price, thus preventing speculation.

Private capital was "frequently allowed"— in the words of
our German informant— to take a 40 per cent first mortgage
on the improvements at 41^ per cent plus i per cent amortiza-
tion. The balance, or risk capital, was furnished by the state.
This was certainly subsidizing businessmen in a big way, with
government taking the first 60 per cent of the risk.

We talked with a fat, jolly housewife standing in the midst
of her quacking ducks. She said that she and her husband
were able to meet all installments on the homestead from
the sale of their vegetables and fowl. There was also enough
left over to feed themselves and their three children. Four
years before, they had been on relief because her husband
was a day laborer with only part-time work. He still couldn't
find a steady job, but now when unemployed he kept gain-
fully busy by helping her on the homestead.

Laura wanted to know how, since they were on relief,
they had got together the nest egg for the down payment and
the livestock.

They had worked that out, the housewife explained, by
helping to construct the buildings, their own and their
neighbors'. The money for stocking the place was put up by
the state and added to their mortgage. Now, after four years

Berlin Housing Subsidy But — 87

on the land, they felt reasonably secure. The other families
were satisfied, too; in fact, there was a long waiting list.

Next we visited city projects that had been completely
financed by public funds, 30 per cent from the Reich and 70
per cent from Berlin. Tenants came from the low-income
group, and rents were jointly subsidized by city and state.

Corner balconies were staggered by setbacks in the build-
ings so that no balcony overlooked another. Built-in flower
boxes topped the balcony rails; prizes given for the best
accounted for their perfection. Sun decks on the roofs were
especially popular as playing areas for the children. Clothes
were hung in automatic driers in the laundries.

These laundries were all that the Russians' were not.
There was no cluttering of equipment here. More than
enough room was left around the giant mangle for a house-
wife to stand back while feeding sheets into its iron maw.
The mechanical washers and rinsers were set up in a step-
saving production line. There was no charge for the use of
the laundry.

Prussian efficiency had been demonstrated before, but it
was easy to see that business and government were way off
the track in Germany. Just how far off the track was to slap
me in the face as Wander and I visited over a drink in the
Adlon bar.

The talk turned to the likelihood of war. There was no
doubt that the Germans were getting ready for it. Wander
edged closer to me. He was fidgety and glanced over his
shoulder.

"Here's what happened yesterday afternoon," he whispered,
"to my next-door neighbor, Herr X. He had been talking
too much. Nothing really bad, but he criticized some Nazi
policies. I told him he shouldn't, no matter how he personally

88 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

felt. Well, yesterday afternoon, Herr X was coming home
from work, and his little boy, twelve years old, met him.
They were walking along, hand in hand, talking about family
matters when two Storm Troopers stopped them. No ques-
tions were asked. They simply commanded Herr X to go with
them immediately.

"When my neighbor wanted to know why, they snapped
that he would find out soon enough. They wouldn't let him
see his wife first, or tell him where they were taking him.
Off they marched with Herr X, while the boy ran home to
his mother with the frightening news. Late last night she
finally located the police station where her husband had been
taken. But he was no longer there. Frantic with fear, she
told the Storm Troopers that she would like to provide some
blankets for her husband since she had heard that the con-
centration camps were cold. They replied without compunc-
tion that her husband would never need blankets again."

"Is this story true, Wander?" I asked.

"Before God!" he declared. "I talked with the poor
woman this morning. If you had been there to listen, you
would know it is the truth."

So in hundreds of such human tragedies were the seeds
of war sown.

9

CROWDED
AS KIPPERS

THE FIRST THING I did when we got to London
was to catch up on my correspondence and review the notes
made on the Continent.

On the trip to Europe in 1930, the viewpoint of most
Continentals seemed at variance with ours— while that of
most Englishmen was in harmony— on fundamental ques-
tions. It was likely, therefore, that the way England tackled
her housing problem would fit in better with American ideas
than that of the countries we had just visited. Too many of
the slum-clearance methods used in the autocratic countries
were at cross-purposes with our democratic process.

My first call was on James Somerville, Jr., our professorial,
capable assistant commercial attache, who, after warm greet-
ings, sat me down with the Embassy files on British housing.
He brought my attention particularly to an official notice,
dated April 3, 1933, to all Housing Authorities from the
British Minister of Health.

"In the view of His Majesty's Government," it began,
"the present rate at which the slums are being dealt with is
too slow, and they look for a concerted effort between the
Central Government and the Local Authorities immediately

89

90 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

concerned to ensure a speedier end to the evil, and an end
within a limited time.

"For over twenty years the Local Authorities have had
the duty of inspecting and recording the condition of all
working-class property in their area. The Local Authority
should, therefore, be able to take immediate action."

This was no mere paper pronouncement. It was backed by
the Housing Act of 1933, which provided each Local Au-
thority with an annual subsidy of two pounds, five shillings—
about eleven dollars then— for forty years for each displaced
person rehoused. This was to be matched by the Local Au-
thority with three pounds, fifteen shillings— about eighteen
dollars then— per house for the same period. Since the Ex-
chequer grant was on a per-person basis, it gave the Local
Authority more money than it had to provide on a per-house
basis.

Within a year an excellent start had been made, as shown
by the Minister of Health's report to Parliament stating that
"these programs provide for the demolition of 254,753 houses
and the rehousing of 1,187,173 peoples."

Here seemed to be a plan along democratic instead of
demagogic lines. It was the people's program. The local
community made the findings and did the job. The central
government helped with the subsidy and could prod the
laggards.

These reports, however, were from the government. But
what about the business viewpoint? Somerville immediately
produced the findings of the National Housing Committee.
This up-to-the-minute report was from a group of business
and professional men exclusively. Its chairman was the
Right Honorable Lord Amulree, president of the Building
Industry Council of Review.

This unanimous report brought out that the first compul-

Crowded as Kippers 91

sory housing laws were passed in 1850, but the compulsory
education act not until some twenty years later; that it was
more important to house a child decently than to send him
to school four hours a day, then toss him back into a slum
for the remaining twenty hours, and expect him to rise
above that environment.

The Amulree Committee, that group of private enter-
prisers, then spoke for itself:

"Fit and proper housing is a national essential, in the
absence of which our existing social legislation must prove
unfruitful. As long as overcrowding and slums exist, the
doctor is attempting a cure without being able to touch the
root of the disease; the teacher has the full force of environ-
ment against him; the social reformer is fighting a battle in
which he cannot hope for decisive victory.'*

The committee also expressed itself on the economic phase
of slums:

"Good housing means less expenditure on prevention of
disease, less crime, better benefit for education, less unem-
ployability as opposed to unemployment. The elimination of
bad conditions has a cash value as well as a moral value to
the nation."

Here was a position taken on slum clearance by leaders in
building ownership, building finance, and the building mate-
rials field of Britain that was exactly opposite to the attitude
taken by similar leaders in America. British leaders pro-
claimed that the only way slums could go was with govern-
ment aid, while American leaders proclaimed that govern-
ment should keep out— and stay out.

The next day Ray Atherton, counselor of our Embassy,
gave me a new view on a phase of housing.

92 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

"Slum clearance has recently become a major interest of
my wife's, too," he volunteered. "The Princess of Athlone,
and other ladies who take their social work seriously, have
been visiting the new housing projects and then the slums
to make comparisons. In a new housing development, my
wife got a woman to talk quite freely. There were three
children in the family, and their mother said it was a relief
and a joy to have them on the playing fields instead of in
back alleys. There was, however, one worrisome problem.
With kids romping in the sunshine all day long, their appe-
tites increased so much that it was difficult to feed them on
the limited income of the family."

In this connection, Atherton said he understood that
housing estates now had dietitians to advise mothers on how
to prepare adequate yet inexpensive menus. In fact, there
were so many ways in which the housing projects in Britain
were doing constructive work that Atherton found it difficult
to comprehend the strong opposition in America.

I explained that in Atlanta the most active opposition
came from slum owners, slum mortgage holders, and slum
brokers. The rest seemed to be people who had not thought
the matter through, or who were unwilling to be convinced,
or who believed in every man for himself and the devil take
the hindmost.

"That attitude," Atherton said, tilting back in his chair,
"is, unfortunately, rather typical of many American business
leaders. I have talked with scores of them as they passed
through London in the past decade. They damn anything
new in government, no matter how inevitable it may be.
Since President Roosevelt took office, their outcry has be-
come much louder. Maybe this is not unnatural. We are still
a young nation, and we must learn from experience. The
British are an old people. Their business leaders take a more

Crowded as Kippers 93

mature outlook than ours do. When the man in the street
over here gets so restless that a change becomes imperative,
the leaders don't fight it. On the contrary, they work to bring
about the change, get credit for it, and then help guide it.

"Consequently, you will see many upper-class leaders in
slum clearance today, such as Sir Basil Blackett, director of
the Bank of England, and others. They are not insincere.
They are simply determined to help clean up the slums— a
job admittedly long past due— rather than let the man in
the street get the credit for doing it all by himself. As a
result, the upper classes are acclaimed for clearing slums.
This technique, which has been in use for well over a
century, accounts in substantial measure for the intelligent
evolution of Britain without revolution. There is much we
in America can learn from this British practice of leading
reform movements."

Atherton then mentioned an attack on the slum problem
that I hadn't heard about. It was to prohibit overcrowding
through limiting by law the number of people in existing
dwellings. I wondered how it could be done, so Atherton
kindly arranged for me to see John C. Wrigley, assistant
secretary of the Ministry of Health.

I went to Whitehall at the appointed hour and was happy
to find Mr. Wrigley a kind and understanding official who
appreciated and sympathized with the problems we were
facing in America. And he would be happy to tell me about
the new law on overcrowding.

"Won't dealing with overcrowding by decree," I inquired,
"be a new approach difficult to sell to the people?"

"Well, yes and no," he answered, "You see, we have ample
precedent in other phases of slum clearance to require the
citizen to do right by the state. For a landlord to overcrowd
his rental property so that it endangers public health is like

94 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

letting physical property deteriorate so that its occupants
contract typhoid because of bad drains, or bad plumbing, as
you in America would say. This, it seems to me is the same
reasoning you use in your pure-food laws.

"For example, I believe that the butcher in America vio-
lates the law if he sells rotten meat, the dairyman if he sells
impure milk. And over here, we say that the landlord is a
similar lawbreaker when he rents insanitary housing. We
even carry that principle through when we buy his property.
For if a building is unfit for human habitation, we pay only
the value of the land as a cleared site. In other words, we
do not include the decayed building any more than you
would include the decayed meat when buying a butcher
business in the States.

"Nor do we consider income in appraising slum property.
To capitalize rent from an insanitary dwelling would be like
capitalizing the income from the sale of bad meat. And we
consider the owner lucky not to be in jail for having ex-
ploited the housing on the site for so many years after its
decay.

"You may care to hear the reasons that convinced the
present government that an overcrowding law was needed.
Although we built many new houses after the Armistice, our
1931 census showed nearly three million people living more
than two persons to a room, including kitchens. The idea
that all those houses we had built would bring about a gradual
filtering up of the population, and that bad housing and
overcrowding would automatically disappear, didn't work."

So it didn't work, eh? I was reminded of Allievi's "filtering
up" theory, and this incontrovertible proof of how wrong
that wonderful old Roman gentleman was.

"In looking for a solution," Wrigley continued, "we found
that, in one sense, overcrowding is harder to tackle than slum

Crowded as Kippers 95

clearance. An unfit house, once removed, ceases to be a danger
to health. An overcrowded house may well be, of itself, a
perfectly fit house and continue as adequate housing after
being 'decrowded/ But the benefits of decrowding are entirely
lost if the return to overcrowding is not prevented for the
future. Thus to propose a remedy short of permanent pre-
vention is merely straightening out one dent in a rubber ball
by making another."

The analogy was certainly apt and brought up a pertinent
question. "Decrowding seems logical enough," I said, "but
how do you plan to accommodate the people who are ejected?"

"We haven't yet worked that out," Wrigley admitted. "We
shan't know the extent of the problem until the Local Au-
thorities complete the overcrowding surveys. We are inserting
safeguards so that existing overcrowding will not be penal-
ized until suitable alternative housing is available.

"In concluding that overcrowding can only be dealt with
as an offense, it was necessary to establish measurable stand-
ards. These will relate to separation of the sexes and ade-
quacy of space. The penalties will render both landlord and
tenant liable for any violations. Primary responsibility for
the program will rest on the Local Authority. Ample financial
aid for surveys and enforcement will be forthcoming."

I would have loved to ramble on for hours but at the first
opportunity I thanked him profusely and made my getaway.

On the way back to the hotel, I picked up the pictures
taken in Russia. Ambassador Bullitt wanted some shots of
the baseball game for use in Russian newspapers. I dis-
patched them and later learned that they were used in intro-
ducing baseball into the next Five- Year Plan.

I then visited Major Harry Barnes, former president of
the Royal Institute of British Architects. He was as rugged
an advocate of slum clearance as he was rugged in appearance.

96 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

His great hands, broad shoulders, and shaggy head combined
to give him the drive that had produced important buildings
and aided in the preparation of significant housing legisla-
tion. He had also written The Slum, Its Story and Solution.

"We think we are doing quite well in clearing slums,"
he began, "but the people don't agree with us. Their slogan,
you may have heard, was 'Up with the houses; down with the
slums.' They claimed that there was not enough done, al-
though the London County Council had cleared hundreds of
acres of slums and built tens of thousands of houses. Why,
one L.C.C. project, Becontree, is the largest municipal hous-
ing estate in the world. It covers an area four times as big
as the square mile that forms the City of London. It houses
more than 25,000 working-class families— about 120,000 people
—who formerly lived in the slums of London.

"Yet the voters still said, 'Not enough done,' and they
were right. There was nothing for it but to move even faster.
The Act of 1933 is speeding up laggard towns. It gives the
Minister of Health the power to order inquiries where proper
schemes for slum clearance are not submitted promptly. The
Minister has recently called about a dozen such towns on the
carpet. So far so good. We are creeping a little faster. But we
will never reach full speed until we decide that housing is
every bit as important as education. We must do for housing
what was done for education back in 1870— make it com-
pulsory instead of permissive."

It was obvious that Major Barnes was a fighter from the
word go. He said that he had prepared an amendment to put
teeth into the housing laws.

"The reason we must make decent housing mandatory,"
he explained, "is because that's the only way poor people can
get it. Generations of experience offer proof positive that
there is no money in housing the poorest people well, while

Crowded as Kippers 97

there has always been money in housing them ill. Those who
house them ill make so much money that they don't want
the slums to go, but the movement here in England rolled
over them long ago."

I sighed at the thought of the fight we'd had to put up in
Atlanta. And I had the feeling that the battle was far from
over.

"With no money in housing the poorest people well,"
Major Barnes continued, "they must be housed at whatever
rents they can afford to pay. That's where subsidy comes in.
That's why a statutory provision to provide a separate dwell-
ing for every family is needed as much as the one that pro-
vides a place in school for every child."

"If the poor are housed at the rent they can afford to pay,"
I said, "does that mean some families pay less rent than
others for identical housing?"

"Exactly!" Major Barnes beamed. "And that is as it should
be. When a poor man goes to hospital he is charged less for
the same operation than a man of means. That principle
when applied to housing is called 'differential renting.' The
city of Leeds employs it with great success, and it is spread-
ing. I would make it compulsory in all public housing."

These Britishers were shooting the facts to me so fast that
I was getting dizzy. On leaving Major Barnes, I dashed down
the steps and ran toward a taxi stand in the middle of the
street, subconsciously glancing to the left for oncoming
traffic. There was a shouted curse and a swish of rubber as
a car from the right nearly knocked me over. The driver of
the cab I entered had seen my narrow escape.

"Can't you Americans," he tartly remarked, "ever learn that
we drive on the left over here? Serves you right, seems to me."

Since he had me dead to rights, I made no comment as I
was taken to the apartment of Lewis Silkin, chairman of the

98 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

Housing and Public Health Committee of the London
County Council.

Courtly, swarthy, slightly stooped Silkin came forward
slowly to shake hands. The elegance of his drawing room was
more oriental than occidental. It fitted him well, for there
was much of the mystic about the man. His dark eyes were
heavily lidded. The loose mouth under his bulbous nose
parted in a slight smile. Faint though it was, it changed his
whole aspect. His expression lost its dour look and became
warmly cordial.

Over a glass of sherry— it was teatime— Silkin personified
the cultured, gracious host. Here was a man who was a
writer and a doer, with no time for play. His Fabian pam-
phlets on the ills of England were internationally known.
His accomplishments in his present post had taken a lot of
action in his patient, persuasive way.

"With your practical interest in politics, Mr. Silkin," I
led off, "do you find that constituents plague you for prefer-
ential treatment in public housing?"

"I guess the world in that regard," he replied, "is the same
everywhere. Now and then I am asked to help. But political
influence does not go with the housing managers. They are
all under civil service, and if an applicant tried political
pressure, he would be shown the door. Selections are made
entirely by merit alone."

"How about when it comes to letting contracts for con-
struction?"

"That, too, is free of politics. The jobs are awarded through
sealed bids. We use a method that may be new to you in
America. Instead of inviting bids on the over-all cost, we
ask for bids just on the contractor's fee, agreeing to pay all
labor, material, equipment bills, and carrying charges our-
selves. The contractors are furnished with complete quantity

Crowded as Kippers 99

surveys, which are carefully prepared. They then submit
their fee bids on the estimates of the over-all cost. We have
found this method unusually satisfactory to both sides, and
it has saved us some money."

"What do you think about paying for slum clearance out
of current revenue, as in Vienna, instead of borrowing the
money and amortizing the loans over fifty or sixty years?"

"I think the long-time basis is better," Silkin replied
thoughtfully. "The present generation did not make the
slums, so they should not pay the entire cost of clearance.
Nor will they be the only generation to benefit by the new
housing; it is built for future generations, too. Furthermore,
if the capital for our program was limited to what we can
afford from current revenue, we would be severely limited
in our plans of action. On the other hand, the tax money now
used to pay interest and amortization on housing loans is not
a burden, and it liquidates a much larger program over sev-
eral generations."

"How do you look at slum clearance as a whole?"
"It should be a partnership between national and local
governments. This is logical and best. Political differences
have gradually disappeared. All party platforms are against
slums, just as they are all against sin."

"How much of a problem is management?"
"It's a big problem," Silkin admitted, "especially when
there are sixty-five thousand houses, which is the number we
have completed in London and occupied. Rents are collected
weekly to keep the payments small, only about ten shillings-
two dollars and a half— for a two-bedroom house. Weekly
payments also keep down arrearages. Most estates give prizes
for the best gardens. In Westminster there are yearly inspec-
tions of homes, and housekeeping is rated as clean, fairly

100 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

clean, and dirty. Yes, free of politics, management works out
very well."

Cushioned by a heavy oriental carpet that formed a pool
of rich color as background for the exquisite teakwood furni-
ture, Silkin and I strolled to the reception hall. Beside the
entrance door was a Brobdingnagian vase from China. With
the natural poise and grace of a potentate, my gracious host
bowed from the waist, extended a mammoth, swarthy hand,
and wished me a pleasant voyage home with the hope that I
would return to England soon.

That was exactly what I wished for. First, some time in
America to share what the British were doing in slum clear-
ance. Then I wanted to come back to England to absorb more
of their valuable experience to apply in our country.

1O

<THE WAY
OUT"

WHILE WE were making the Atlantic crossing on
the Statendam, we looked forward to some restful, lazy days.
However, it was a rough trip with high seas often breaking
over the bridge. So I stayed in our cabin and worked on the
promised report for Harry Hopkins.

He would learn more from my movies in five minutes than
from a fifty-page report. However, to edit and title the film
would take time, and I wanted to get something to him
right away. So I decided to write an outline of policies with
just enough background to substantiate my conclusions.
Later on, the movie would furnish the particulars.

We should take from the experience of Europe only that
which would work in a democracy. The report must merit
support from all concerned. That support must be assured
before submission of legislation to Congress. From the be-
ginning, real-estate interests should be consulted. Properly
handled, a public-housing program could win their support,
but it could come only through complete understanding.

Co-operation by the church and social workers would be
essential to convince the public of the need for such a move-
ment. Capital and labor, too, had common interests in its
success. Government itself was the foundation upon which
the plan must rest.

101

102 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

This meant that the initiative must come from Washing-
ton. The President should bring together that cross section of
the nation that would have the greatest interest in slum clear-
ance and public housing. By using the experience in Britain
to harmonize conflicting views in America, the United States
could develop a slum-clearance program without going
through the trial-and-error periods of other countries. By
gaining support in advance from all concerned, the move-
ment would be freer from attack than if it were formulated
by a few specialists in star-chamber sessions. Then when slum
owners and their henchmen tried to distort the plan by cries
of unfair competition, others would not be misled so easily
as they had been in Atlanta. They would understand before-
hand that it costs more to keep slums than to clear them;
that slum clearance is not new and untried, but old and
proven; and finally, that slum clearance is not socialism but
enlightened capitalism.

There was no other nation-wide activity that could make
as many jobs as slum clearance. This could really be the way
out for Hopkins with his problem of the unemployed. So
that is how I headed the report.

"The Way Out" told that healthful housing is the main
objective of sincere leaders throughout Europe; that those
political parties that carry out slum clearance and rehousing
programs to the fullest are the most successful; that some
governments compel cities to house their needy citizens
properly, just as cities are required to educate all children;
that slum clearance is the story of the state's battle against
unemployment, disease, vice, hunger, and squalor; that
cholera in the slums of Naples became such a threat to the
entire city and state that the King of Italy had to wipe out
its' source, the slum; that tuberculosis in Rome throughout
the congested quarters, and the need to make work, caused

"The Way Out" 103

action there; that food shortage forced the establishment of
subsistence homesteads in Austria, and the threat of Bol-
shevism because of unemployment prompted the great urban
housing in Vienna; that the need for better sanitation and
the curse of overcrowding forced the Parliament of England,
as early as 1875, to pass laws dealing with slums.

That state aid in Europe to house the poor is so much a
part of public policy that the movement is beyond the range
of controversy, although political capital is occasionally made
by "the outs" when "the ins" fail to carry slum clearance
and rehousing far enough; that the U.S. is not free from ills
that other nations are remedying through vast housing pro-
grams; that any political party in power in Washington is
derelict to the degree that it delays an aggressive, nation-wide
attack on these troubles; that no experimentation is necessary
because the older countries of the world have done the pio-
neering for us; that impartial analysis by the Housing Divi-
sion in Washington shows the need for $500,000,000 in New
York (only $25,000,000 then available) and $400,000,000 in
Chicago (only $20,000,000 then available) to make inroads
on the slums of only these two cities. That billions of dollars
and millions of men can be constructively employed in a
nation-wide battle against the slums.

That while the people should be aroused to the movement
by church and state, business and professional men must
actually direct and execute it.

That with church and state, employer and employee, work-
ing together, it will be possible to accomplish a good for
our citizens second only to the preservation of peace.

Hopkins partially rose from behind a battered, flat-top oak
desk, shook hands listlessly, plopped back into his chair, and
swung both feet to the top of an open drawer. I knew he was

104 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

not discourteous, just tired. His eyes were dull, and every
movement seemed an effort.

"Glad to see you back," he said without enthusiasm.
"How'd you make out? Find anything worth while?"

"There was so much," I replied, "that I had a devil of a
job of condensing. Maybe the best way to decide what you
want to do is to read the report. It's only a couple of pages
long."

Hopkins accepted the report so absent-mindedly that it
was plain he would rather talk than read. It looked as though
he wouldn't finish the first paragraph, so to get the points
over, I read aloud from my copy. Hopkins dropped his,
closed his eyes, and listened intently. When I had finished,
he bounced erect in his chair and banged a fist on the desk.

"You know," he exclaimed, "we ought to start by getting
Henry Wallace steamed up on those subsistence homesteads!
He's the Secretary of Agriculture and can help a lot. He
knows what we're doing down at Pine Mountain near Warm
Springs. But Henry has no more idea of the possibilities than
I had until you read me your report. How about the movies
you took? Any subsistence homestead projects in them?"

"Yes, and I believe the titles can be written to tell the
whole story."

"Let me know as soon as you're ready, and we'll show
them to Wallace." Hopkins was all energy now. "But how
about slum clearance? It's a lot bigger and a much older
movement than I had any idea of."

"It amazed me, too," I said. "Especially the way the British
have perfected it. They have the backing of all political
parties as well as both capital and labor. What surprised me
most was to find leading advocates among bankers and real-
estate owners."

"Well," Hopkins wondered, "I don't think we can expect

"The Way Out" 105

their co-operation here. Look at all the trouble they've given
you on your Atlanta project."

"I'm not so sure they won't help," I ventured. "The great
majority of businessmen are reasonable and fair. If we can
convince them that slum clearance and subsistence home-
steads are good business— and they are— then I feel sure that
they will co-operate."

"Well, maybe you're right," Hopkins said doubtfully.
"But I haven't had much luck along that line. How would
you go about it?"

"Through the presidents of their trade associations," I
pointed out. "The President of the United States should in-
vite such leaders to help prepare appropriate legislation.
Specifically, the National Association of Building Owners
and Managers includes practically all the principal office-
building owners in America. Slums hurt their property
values, so they should swing into action in a big way. The
insurance companies also should play ball because slum
clearance lowers the mortality rate and stabilizes mortgages
on central real estate besides. The National Association of
Real Estate Boards— except for those brokers who manage
slum housing— should see the light. The American Institute of
Architects, whose members would design the buildings, and
the Association of General Contractors, who would construct
the buildings, have a very direct interest."

"Anybody else?" Hopkins prodded.

"Yes," I added, "the great church organizations and social
workers associations should be represented. It will take time
and involve some compromises. But I believe it's best to get
those with all points of view around the table first. Then if
they can't get together, they at least won't be able to say
later that the program was pulled out of a hat without their
being heard. Of course, a way to get the money may be the

106 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

toughest job. Actually, though, it doesn't take too much.
There are various methods that have worked well in England
with the support of all interested parties."

But Hopkins showed little interest in the financing. His
mind was on the over-all picture.

"Tell you what to do," he said decisively. "Get the film in
shape as soon as possible. Then Wallace, you, and I will go
over it. He and I may have some suggestions. And then I'd
like to have the President see the movie, too, if it can be
arranged."

There hadn't been a single interruption, by telephone or
otherwise, during our talk. When Hopkins wanted to con-
centrate, he evidently arranged things accordingly. He was
completely devoid of any "front" and, once aroused, gave me
his full attention. I left the report with him as we parted.

The next move was mine.

11

ICKES PLAYS
WITH DYNAMITE

WHEN I returned to Atlanta, the first job was the
preparation of the movie. Eastman Kodak co-operated splen-
didly by working the night shift.

Then there were the usual speeches before civic groups
and travel clubs. Tied into our local slum-clearance program,
Europe's record was of more than passing interest. The en-
thusiasm for my talks confirmed that the plan given to
Harry Hopkins was well worth trying.

The government had bought scores of slum properties in
the Techwood and University Homes areas during the
summer. Demolition was about to start, and Secretary Ickes
was coming for appropriate ceremonies on September 29,

1934-

On the twentieth of that month, a distinguished group of
overseas housing experts arrived in Atlanta for three days.
They had been touring principal American cities for the
past month under the auspices of the National Association
of Housing Officials. Sir Raymond Unwin, of the Amulree
Committee in England, was chairman. He was accompanied
by Miss Alice Samuels, representing the Society of Women
Housing Estate Managers of Great Britain, and Dr. Ernest
Kohn, housing consultant of Frankfurt-am-Main, Germany.

107

108 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

Ernest J. Bohn of Cleveland, president of the National Asso-
ciation of Housing Officials, and Henry Wright, noted
architect of New York, completed the party.

Sir Raymond sparked the first meeting with our local offi-
cials by saying that America was "striding with seven-league
boots" compared with the slow progress of the early days of
slum clearance in Britain. He was fully qualified to make
the comparison because his services in British housing had
won knighthood from the King.

Sir Raymond went on to say that the United States was
far ahead of England in minimum standards of free educa-
tion, but still woefully behind in housing, which, to his
way of thinking, was much more fundamental.

"In your program," he continued, "you cannot and should
not charge your developments with the cost of the obsolete
and decayed slum buildings destroyed. It is just not sound
economics. We fix the price of sites on the basis of what a
willing buyer will pay a willing seller if the land were zoned
for housing."

Sir Raymond's Windsor tie and drooping mustache gave
him the appearance of an artist, which he was, but not with
a brush. His art was in the field of human understanding of
human needs.

"Housing is the magic ingredient of all economics," he
said, "for it makes the most jobs. Why, just to build one
small dwelling takes a year of man-hours on the site plus a
three-quarter year to produce the materials. A million houses
means a million, seven hundred and fifty thousand jobs for
one year!

"Usually the community in which the need for housing is
greatest is least able to finance it, so ample national subsidies
are required. These must get the rents so low that the poorest
can pay them. This means that we must come to think more

I ekes Plays with Dynamite 109

and more in terms of income, and less and less in terms of
imaginary capital values. And there is less variance between
countries than you might think, isn't there, Dr. Kohn?"

"I agree with Sir Raymond," Kohn barked, "and I say
something more. Don't amortize the cost of the land. We
don't in Germany. Why should we? Why should you? The
land is always there!"

A general discussion followed about relating subsidies to
income instead of to capital. Then genial, ample Miss
Samuels began discussing management. She'd had charge,
since 1928, of 625 houses for the Bebington District Council
near Liverpool.

"It is as necessary," she began, "to have trained managers
in housing as it is to have trained nurses in hospitals or
trained teachers in schools. I do not mean to say that it
takes as much training for housing as for nursing or teaching.
What I do say is that housing management is much more
than simply the collection of rents. Especially is this true
when the poor from the slums are your tenants. They need
to learn, and they can't learn decent housing without
teachers, any more than school children can learn without
them.

"Being a woman, you may think me prejudiced when I
maintain that women make the best managers. Here are my
reasons. The mother is in the house more than the father.
She has the direct care of the children. Her confidence must
be won on a woman-to-woman basis. That means getting to
know each other. It means gaining entry to the house to in-
vestigate without snooping. Cleanliness, quarrelsomeness,
health, and ability to pay rent— all must be checked, and in-
direct guidance given. A spot of tea together in the kitchen
helps a lot. A man can't be as neighborly with a woman as

110 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

another woman. At least, he'd better not when that woman's
husband is away all day long.

"The members of our Society of Women Housing Man-
agers in Great Britain think the kind of a job we do is the
way it should be done. Some politicians disagree. They'd
rather have their male henchmen act as rent collectors in
place of trained managers chosen by examination. But, I am
happy to say, the politicians do not prevail.

"I think the policy of working with the housewife has
proven itself in our project at Bebington. There we have
practically no trouble with police being called in, although
previously many of these same people had been continuously
in the police courts."

Miss Samuels having concluded, Ernest Bohn put in a
question.

"Sir Raymond, we have talked about the fact that the in-
spiration back of our present urge for public housing in
America is to find work for the unemployed. Do you con-
sider that should be the primary purpose?"

"It is very important, of course," Sir Raymond replied.
"Fundamentally, however, slum clearance is to make better
people. Yet it is a fact that England has been able to over-
come the industrial depression largely by public housing and
the activity of speculative builders for the well-to-do. Ex-
penditures in building operations, one should remember,
are widely distributed in purchasing power throughout a
community."

The fruitful sessions ended with many better-informed
officials and citizens in Atlanta. On the last day of their stay,
I was host for a stag dinner in the Capital City Club. Sir
Raymond, then in winged collar, at first declined all spirits.
However, the green mint leaves topping the silver goblets
of Georgia juleps so intrigued the artist in him that he soon

Ickes Plays with Dynamite 111

reconsidered. And he found the first julep so easy to take
that he had downed another before I could caution him
about their potency. But no harm was done; he enjoyed him-
self immensely and so did we all. Even Dr. Kohn tapped his
foot in time to the tunes of the Negro jug band.

The same evening, Laura entertained Miss Samuels at a
little dinner in our home. The party was a congenial one,
for the guests had much in common with their distinguished
visitor. Miss Gay Shepperson, director of WPA in Georgia;
Miss Rhoda Kauffman, head of the Family Welfare Society;
Miss Florence Read, president of Spelman College, and the
others learned much from Miss Samuels, and they all parted
firm friends.

The next day, Eastman delivered the completed film,
right on time. I had written Hopkins to inquire when he
wished to see it. No reply came to the letter or to a follow-up
telegram, so I telephoned his efficient secretary, Mrs. Godwin.
She immediately worked out arrangements for Hopkins and
Wallace to view the film in private at lunch with me at the
Mayflower Hotel in Washington on the following Monday.
So I packed my bags, kissed Laura good-by, and was on my
way again.

Hopkins and Wallace arrived separately but on time.
Hopkins came by way of the apartment entrance to avoid
being stopped in the lobby, as there were always people
around who wanted something from him.

This was my first meeting with Wallace, and I found that
he had a disarming, almost boyish smile. His diffidence
vanished when the movie showed pictures of Leopoldau in
Austria.

"That's what we should emphasize!" he exclaimed. "Sub-
sistence homesteads make the jobs and produce a lot of food

112 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

at the same time. Your projects, such as Pine Mountain in
Georgia, should be expanded, Harry."

"Yes, I agree," Hopkins replied. "Miss Shepperson has done
a big job taking families from relief in Atlanta and re-
settling them in the homesteads at Pine Mountain. She has
also kept about nine hundred men employed building the
roads and houses."

"Both of you undoubtedly know," I put in, "that there is
a great deal going on in this field under Ickes."

"Yes, I know pretty much about those jobs," Hopkins said
somewhat bitterly. "Mrs. Roosevelt and Louis Howe are the
ones who really started Arthurdale, and I'm damned glad
they're interested. But any big movement like this shouldn't
be scattered all over the place. Some projects are being done
by Interior, some by WPA, and you've even got some going
in Agriculture, haven't you, Henry?"

"Well, yes and no," Wallace replied. "We've been helping,
but we have no over-all authority. It seems to me this
whole thing should be combined in some sort of Resettle-
ment Administration, probably' under the Department of
Agriculture."

"I'll play ball with you on that, Henry," Hopkins agreed.
"And I think the President would approve. After all, it's up
to him. He knows a hell of a lot more about these subsistence
homesteads and slum clearance than you'd think. Let's see
the rest of the film, Palmer."

I had stopped the projector when Wallace got so interested
in the Leopoldau pictures. The afternoon was hot and sunny,
so the Venetian blinds were down. Hopkins lounged on the
davenport with slats of light and shadow across him, while
Wallace leaned forward in a straight-back chair.

When the film was over, Wallace wanted to know exactly
how it would be used. Its best use, I suggested, might well be

Ickes Plays with Dynamite 113

in proving to the general public that we would miss a good
bet in America if we did not do more— much more— on slum
clearance.

"What I have in mind," Hopkins said, "is to try to arrange
for the President to see it as soon as possible. What do you
think, Henry?"

"Absolutely!" Wallace heartily agreed.

"I may be with him next week at Hyde Park," Hopkins
informed us. "I'll keep in touch with you, Palmer."

Hopkins left as he came, by the side entrance. Wallace
talked a few minutes longer about emphasis on subsistence
homesteads and then went back to his office, promising to
co-operate in every way.

The next few days in Washington were spent in conferences
with Colonel Horatio B. Hackett, director of Housing, and
his associates, discussing the lessons learned in Europe.
Arrangements were also completed for Secretary Ickes's visit
to Atlanta, when the first slum buildings would be wrecked.

Ickes arrived on Sepember 29, with Director of Housing
Hackett and Mike Straus, Public Relations director. Shortly
thereafter, two dynamite blasts echoed the news that Atlanta
had led the United States in one of the largest and most
important undertakings in its history: the federal replace-
ment of slums.

The first explosion came from Beavers' Slide. The up-
rights of a slum shack had been partly sawed in half, and any
gentle breeze might have collasped it that sunny Saturday
morning. So when Ickes thrust the plunger home to detonate
the dynamite, moldy planks flew sky-high, and only a hole
in the ground remained.

But at Techwood the shack selected to blow up hadn't
had the same solicitous preparation. Ickes expected it to dis-

114 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

appear into oblivion, as had its predecessor. But when he
pushed the plunger, there was a deafening roar and the
shanty lurched but did not erupt. As the dust settled, Ickes
turned to me with a quizzical grin.

"Guess I'm getting weak," he said.

The Secretary was in a rare mood that day, his sudden
snarls and snaps momentarily harnessed. Even at the railroad
station he had been lighthearted. When Straus inquired of
a local reporter if the Atlanta jail, being remodeled with
WPA money, was completed, Ickes wisecracked, "If not,
maybe they have a good hotel where we can stay." Later when
the Secretary was asked how far he would be from the build-
ings he was to blow up, he blurted out, "Far enough, I hope."

But Ickes was serious when he made his speech over a
nation-wide hookup with Atlanta Journal's radio station
WSB.

"We have met here today to do something that has never
before been done in this country. We are about to clear out
two slum areas so that we may build on these sites some-
thing new and better: low-cost housing projects available to
people in the lowest-income classes at rents that will be within
their ability to pay

"As a people we ought to be as deeply ashamed of our
slums as we were about our child labor. Personally we have
all rejoiced that we have not had to live in slums. We have
hoped that the revolving wheel of fortune would never
mean that any of our children would be forced by circum-
stances to eke out an existence in any such neighborhood.
We have known that they are a disgrace to our civilization.

"On the political side, the slums have been the source and
mainstay of bad government. The wicked political rings that
have flourished in so many of our large cities could not exist

I ekes Plays with Dynamite 115

without the slums. Perhaps this is one reason why so many
cities and states have not only made no serious efforts to do
away with them, but on the contrary have, by quiet and tacit
support, assured their continued existence. The crooked poli-
tician has always known his way about the slums

"The cost of slums is high from every point of view:
economic, political, social, and moral. They are so costly it
is a matter of surprise that a supposedly prudent and business-
like people should so long have endured these unsightly and
objectionable warrens that we have permitted men, women,
and children to call their homes

"We have had to overcome great difficulties in getting our
slum-clearance program under way. From time to time the
most astonishing rumors have come to us of the dismal fate
that has befallen the Housing Division of the Public Works
Administration. When we ventured to protest that we were
alive, many of our critics declared that we ought to die, even

if we hadn't already done so If the housing program is a

corpse, you will admit that on this day, at any rate, it is
quite a lively one."

A letter came from Secretary of Agriculture Wallace with
a minor suggestion or two. No word came from Hopkins.
Early in October I tried to get through to him by phone. No
luck. The run-around continued, so I had to turn to others.

Lewis H. Brown, president of Johns-Man ville Corporation,
whose southern headquarters had been in one of our office
buildings in Atlanta for years, and I had talked in New
York upon my return from Europe. I had pointed out the
help slum clearance could be to his building-materials busi-
ness, as well as to the entire economy. Later I had sent him
a copy of "The Way Out" and he wrote me his reaction.

116 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

"I have read over this memorandum several times. I am
afraid that it will appeal greatly to Secretary Perkins, but
that the presentation is such as will further 'frighten to death'
all of those business elements whose co-operation must be
secured to make such a program a success. You have been
through this whole situation mentally and physically until
you are thinking far ahead of the people to whom you have
to sell this idea. My recommendation is that you, yourself,
mentally try to visualize the state of mind of the people whom
you are going to approach; then start in from that point and
lead their minds gradually up to the point you hope to reach."

Brown was thoroughly sympathetic and arranged that
Winfield Riefler, economic adviser to the National Emer-
gency Council, lunch with me on November 5 in Washing-
ton and bring along one or two others. Brown also talked
the whole matter over with Frank Walker, executive director
of the National Emergency Council.

Riefler brought with him J. M. Daiger, adviser on housing
to the Federal Reserve Board in Washington. They both had
such a comprehensive understanding of our stalled economy
that no argument was necessary to convince them slum
clearance would answer the unemployment problem if under-
taken heroically enough. After viewing the movies, it was
agreed that they should be shown later in the week at a
small dinner.

In the group that got together for the dinner in my rooms
at the Mayflower were, besides Riefler and Daiger, Thomas
G. Corcoran, counsel for the Reconstruction Finance Corpo-
ration, who had helped draft the Securities Act of 1933,
Benjamin V. Cohen, who did as much as Corcoran in perfect-
ing this legislation, and Dwight L. Hoopingarner, associate
director of Housing in the PWA, adviser to labor organiza-

I ekes Plays with Dynamite 117

tions, and executive head of the American Construction
Council.

Among so many prima donnas, it wasn't easy to perfect a
plan of action after the film was shown. All agreed that slum
clearance was the answer. The smoke in the room got thicker
and the thinking fuzzier.

Cohen and Corcoran huddled and whispered together but
took little part in the discussion. I ventured the opinion that
slum clearance was not entirely a government job and ex-
plained about the Amulree Committee in England. With
Cohen and Corcoran keeping mum, the others agreed that
a similar committee could be useful in the United States as
a starter. Labor, real-estate, church, and welfare groups would
be brought in; but the thought was to start quietly by first
convincing the big bankers and industrialists. They would
be the hardest to sell. And, too, if they were left unsold, their
lack of understanding that slum clearance was enlightened
capitalism, as the British had already proved, would prompt
these men— who were the counterparts of the leading
supporters of the program in England— to be its bitterest
opponents in America.

It was decided that likable, capable Lewis Brown would
be the ideal person to feel out some of the key men whose
names had been discussed. And so the evening ended.

I had shrugged off what Brown had written about the need
to go slow. But now the fact that people's minds had to be
led up gradually to accept the program was beginning to sink
in. The thought irritated me. There were outstanding pro-
gressives at that evening of films and talk at the Mayflower.
But instead of getting all steamed up, as I was, it was obvious
that they still had some more thinking to do. I was forced to
admit that Brown had been right. It would be a long, hard
pull.

118 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

So the business dragged on. Communication between all
of us became further and further apart, more pressing day-to-
day matters intervened, and I finally reached the unhappy
conclusion that it would be necessary to make some other
approach.

12

"NOBODY ELSE WILL
OR CAN"— ROOSEVELT

TOWARD THE end of November, 1934, Ickes got
into a heated wrangle with Moffett, who was handling the
new Federal Housing Administration's program of insured
loans for building. The dispute got so acrimonious that
Roosevelt was asked to comment during a press conference
on November 28, at Warm Springs.

The President was in a gay mood, having come to his
Georgia home for his customary gala Thanksgiving with the
polio patients at the Warm Springs Foundation. Atlanta was
so close to the Little White House that I had driven down
with the housing film and a projector on an outside chance
that a showing could be fitted into the President's schedule.

I caught Presidential Secretary Mclntyre in front of the
cottage where he was staying. When I told him my purpose,
he said that the film positively could not be worked in. Well,
how about his taking a quick look himself? Everything was
in my car, and he could see the movie in his cottage. Then
he could give the President his own opinion and arrange a
later showing if Roosevelt wanted to see the picture. No,
"Mac" just didn't have the time, but maybe Henry Kanee
could take a look.

Kanee was the stenographer who took most of the Presi-

119

120 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

dent's dictation. "Mac" located him near by, and soon he was
viewing the slums of Europe in the bedroom of his cottage.
The pictures over, Kanee said he would certainly report to
the President what he had seen. There was no doubt in
Kanee's mind but that Roosevelt was the one to carry the ball.

During that press conference, Roosevelt explained that
Moffett's housing program was designed to serve those with
incomes high enough to obtain private loans, while Ickes's
program was for those whose incomes were so low that private
capital could not take the risk of making them loans.

"You take the ordinary person," the President explained.
"If he hasn't a job or any special capacity, private capital
isn't going in and lend him money to build a house. Ob-
viously not. Now what are we going to do? Are we going to
leave him where he is just because he hasn't security to offer
for a private loan?

"What is the result? They are living today under most
terrible conditions in old tenement flats in New York on the
East Side, on the West Side. We all know the conditions they
live under. They are able to get, on the average, perhaps two
rooms at five or six dollars a room. There is no sanitation, no
light, nothing. They are pretty terrible living conditions.

"Now some say, 'We are licked. Private capital could not
afford to build for five or six dollars a room. That is not
enough.' That is their answer— 'We are licked.' '

The press conference was taking place in the sunshine
under the great, long-leaf pines near the Little White House.
Much good-natured bantering was being batted back and
forth. Between quips, a reporter posed a question of the
President.

"On this housing program we were just talking about,"
he inquired, "has that been decided on at all?"

The President stared at the questioner, then shifted his

"Nobody Else Will or Can99— Roosevelt 121

gaze to the tallest tip of the highest pine silhouetted against
the brilliant hue of the Georgia sky. His chin was up, and
for the moment, he held his cigarette holder as though it
were a baton. Then he jammed it at a jaunty angle in his
mouth and took a couple of quick puffs.

"If," he finally replied, "somebody asks the question, 'Is
the government going to consider itself licked in its effort
to take care of people who cannot otherwise be taken care of?'
the answer is obviously 'No!' And further as a matter of
policy the government is going to continue every reasonable
effort to give the lowest-income group in the United States
the chance to live under better conditions for the very simple
reason that if government does not do it, nobody else will
or canl"

The President went on to prove that only government
could solve the problem by explaining what had happened in
England and Austria.

I often wonder how much Kanee had been able to tell the
President about the film before that press conference. It
seemed more than a coincidence that Roosevelt had empha-
sized how slum clearance prevented Communism in Vienna
and had kept down unrest in England, which were the main
points of the movie.

The way the session with Kanee had been left was that I
would hear from Washington in case the President wanted
to see the film. But days became weeks without the hoped-for
word. It looked as if this approach was going the way of the
others. Still I was determined to go on, come what may.

The next film showing was in the auditorium of the De-
partment of the Interior in Washington, on January 17, 1935,
at the invitation of Secretary Ickes. About five hundred at-
tended. Besides the Secretary, who presided, and Director of
Housing Hackett, in the audience were Mrs. Ickes, Ambassa-

122 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

dor Bullitt, Agriculture Secretary Wallace, Labor Secretary
Perkins, Angeloni of the Italian Embassy, Robert Kelley of
our State Department, Livengood from Rome, Ernest Bohn,
president of the National Association of Housing Officials,
and various memers of the Senate and House. It was a group
that could really do something, and I was heartened by their
presence. Something might happen at last.

Mrs. Mary Simkhovitch, president, and Miss Helen Alfred,
secretary of the National Public Housing Conference, were
indefatigable workers for better housing. Mrs. Simkhovitch
was vice-chairman of the New York Housing Authority and
well knew conditions there. By February, 1935, she, Miss
Alfred, and their associates had prepared a housing bill that
they asked Congressman Robert Ramspeck, of Georgia, to
introduce in the House of Representatives and Senator
Robert Wagner, of New York, to introduce in the Senate.

When Congressman Ramspeck sought my advice before
expressing his opinion to Miss Alfred, frankness forced me
to make certain comments. I wrote him that "experience
during the last fifteen months emphasizes the fallacy of wait-
ing during this emergency for any local government to take
the initiative, as was demonstrated in Atlanta by the manner
in which all sorts of special interests imposed upon you to
try to get you to defeat the slum-clearance program here. The
history of this movement abroad proves conclusively the
necessity for the initiative, motivating, and executing force
to be retained in the central government free from the
squabbles of local bodies. Our state is a good example, be-
cause the housing bill prepared by the Atlanta City Planning
Commission, as well as the New York act, which was sent to
our Governor, have both been turned down flat."

The ladies were doing their best, but sketchily, and it soon

"Nobody Else Will or Can" — Roosevelt 123

developed that Senator Wagner also believed the bill should
be rewritten. By the end of March, the Senator agreed to go
along after certain changes, but the changes left the Housing
Division in the Department of the Interior, and it was neces-
sary to speak out once more against this arrangement. Ickes,
it will be remembered, had ruled that all changes in orders
involving more than five hundred dollars in the construction
of housing projects must have his personal approval. This
was such maladministration, causing such costly delays and
showing such lack of confidence in his own men, that I wrote
plainly stating my views.

The proponents of the bill were beginning to realize that
they would not get far at that session of Congress, but decided
to submit the legislation anyway. It never did get very far.

Talks, meetings, and the showing of the movie kept on at
a brisk pace. Housing was catching on to such an extent that
the subject was included in the Eighth Annual Institute of
Citizenship at Emory University in Atlanta in February, 1935.

Next on the schedule was a luncheon meeting of the New
York Building Congress on March i. Additional sponsors
were the New York Chapter of the American Institute of
Architects, the Architectural League of New York, the New
York Real Estate Board, and the National Public Housing
Conference. Among the five hundred who attended were
representatives of about all the groups I had listed in "The
Way Out."

Before showing the film, I emphasized the requisite of an
annual subsidy. Even the Washington sessions of the National
Public Housing Conference had dodged the issue of limiting
slum-clearance tenants to the poorest people. The subsidy
idea seemed so new that the papers featured it, as I hoped
they would.

124 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

"Proper housing for families of low income," said the
New York Times, "cannot be supplied on a self-liquidating
basis and government subsidy appears to be the inevitable
and feasible means of rebuilding slums."

"It is impossible," wrote the New York American, "to put
low rent housing on a self-liquidating basis, and the sooner
we face it, the better it will be for all of us. ... If we accept
it as our duty to house the lower income groups of people,
then we must face it as an actual fact that we are doing so
in order to protect the balance of the population from the
spread of disease, vice and epidemics, and we must take the
people who are worthy of being housed and house them at
the expense of the community, because the community more
than saves it back."

"The day is fast approaching," the World Telegram edi-
torialized, "when the State will compel cities to house their
needy citizens properly, just as cities are now required to
educate all children."

And the Herald Tribune said: "We must take the people
whose standard of living must be raised and see what those
people can afford to pay, and then fix a rent and furnish the
balance by subsidy."

On the evening of March 14, some seven hundred assem-
bled at the Harvard Club. Included in the program were
Professor Oliver M. W. Sprague, former adviser to the
Treasury Department, who had resigned some months be-
fore in a huff over Roosevelt's policies; B. Charney Vladeck,
member of the New York Housing Authority; and I, with
the film now titled The World War against Slums.

During cocktails and private dinner in the Biddle Room,
disgruntled Sprague and unassuming Vladeck had little to
say. Most of the talking was done by irrepressible Joseph P.

"Hobody Else Will or Can99— Roosevelt 125

Day, who was, in every way, all you would expect from a six-
feet-three-inch character who was the world's greatest auc-
tioneer of real estate. Joe put on a great show, good-naturedly
aimed at me, his fellow real-estate broker. "Subsidy? Non-
sense. People want to live in slums. They don't know how to
act in decent housing. Where would they get their firewood
if they couldn't burn up the stair banisters. Fix 'em and
they'd burn 'em up again. I know. I've seen 'em do it."
Then Joe's eyes would twinkle. As there would be a question
period after my talk, it looked as though Joe was warming
up in readiness to take off the gloves later.

Great, medieval, vaulted Harvard Hall was jammed. We
spoke from beneath the mammoth elephant-head trophy that
Harvard's distinguished alumnus, Teddy Roosevelt, had pre-
sented. Sprague led off. As the Herald Tribune reported it
the next day, "The meeting at the Club was arranged to dis-
cuss means of clearing slums and launching housing projects,
and Dr. Sprague began his remarks with a consideration of
this problem. But he began thereafter to roam the economic
and financial world " And roam it he did, damning every-
body and everything.

When Vladeck's turn finally came, he quietly and effec-
tively stuck to the subject, pointing out that New York City
could trim its budget sixty million a year through public
housing. In proof, he quoted figures showing that the cost of
educating, policing, and crime prevention in the slum areas
was the highest of any in the city and, moreover, that the city
got less revenue from the slum sections.

When I started to show the film, it was after ten o'clock.
The patient audience had been talked at so long that I was
tempted to twist the old wheeze that you can always tell a
Harvard man but you can't tell him much, into some wise-

126 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

crack about telling Harvard men too much, but luckily
caught myself in time and got down to the business at hand.

A surprising number stayed for the question session, and
Joe Day's posers were fair, kind, and constructive, much to
my relief. As we said good night, he confessed full sympathy
with the program and admitted that he had merely been
doing a little friendly leg-pulling during dinner.

Upon my return to Atlanta, early in April, I ran smack
into an occurrence that showed all too plainly that the oppo-
sition would stop at nothing to undermine the housing
program.

Because Atlanta had led the way in slum clearance, it was
natural for other cities to seek guidance from our experience.
Accordingly, Cason Callaway, of the Callaway Textile Mills
in LaGrange, Georgia, and I had talked about clearing some
of the Negro slums in that city. A. R. Clas, who had super-
seded Colonel Hackett as director of Housing, was approached
and agreed to look into the matter on the ground himself.
He arrived in Atlanta late in the afternoon of April 3, so
I arranged a little dinner for him at the Capital City Club.
We would drive down to LaGrange the next day.

The following morning the doorman of the club, who had
been there for years, telephoned me to say that a man, repre-
senting himself to be "from the United States Secret Service,"
had sought from him the name of the waiter who had served
the dinner in honor of Mr. Clas in the private dining room.
The name was given, and the waiter was interviewed in his
home. He was questioned about the talk at the table. Were
more housing projects to be built? If so, where? How many
were at the dinner, and who were they?

I was so mad at this unwarranted interference that I had

"Nobody Else Will or Can" — Roosevelt 127

a careful investigation made. It developed that the man
"from the United States Secret Service" was none other than
the paid secretary of the local Apartment House Owners Asso-
ciation. It had proclaimed that it would fight us "to the last
ditch," and it was in its natural element. Since I suspected
who had sent the "Secret Service man," I went to his slum
brokerage office and told him in explicit particulars what I
thought of him. He made no denial.

The next group to tackle on my agenda was my own trade
association, the National Association of Building Owners
and Managers, of which I was president in 1931. Its twenty-
eighth annual convention was to be in Cincinnati. The days
would be devoted to the problems of office-building operation,
but the effect of traffic and slums on central real-estate values
would also be discussed. With properties represented in our
association employing more capital than the total investment
in the steel, telephone, and automobile industries combined,
I felt that my friends should be among the most militant
leaders for slum clearance. Not just because to clear slums
would enhance the value of their holdings, but because it
would benefit humanity, too. Slum clearance, therefore,
should appeal to them for they were upright and humane
citizens, as well as good businessmen.

On the afternoon of June 12, 1935, in the grand ballroom
of the Netherlands Plaza Hotel, The World War against
Slums was shown to some five hundred members gathered
from all over the country. Before starting the film I thought
it wise to break the ice that was forming around the circle
of my more conservative acquaintances.

"When we think of slum clearance as foreign to our capi-
talistic society," I began, "I feel that in advocating it I should
quote a little verse:

128 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

" 'Just see that happy moron,
He doesn't give a damn;
I wish I were a moron;
My God, perhaps I am!'

"But, with you, I have always been interested in the preser-
vation of capital. To protect the proper use of capital is one
reason for this talk and these movies, as you'll see. So please
don't call me a moron too soon.

"There has probably never been a time in our history,
with the exception of 1780 to 1795, when our citizenry has
been as alive to the issues of the day as it is now. Since 1932
there have been more subjects of national importance in-
telligently discussed by our people than at any time since
that fifteen-year period when we were coming out of our
Revolution. Then our nation was headed by the 'Father of
Our Country.' He was a much more radical man than
Franklin Delano Roosevelt, for Washington was the leader
of a revolution.

"So let us approach slum clearance with the same open-
mindedness that our forebears gave to the problems of their
day when they were building up our country. It is entirely
appropriate that we examine such important movements as
public housing and consider them in an unprejudiced
manner."

After developing many of the specific reasons for slum
clearance, I wound up my introduction to the movie.

That meeting ended in a huddle with much talk as several
clustered around for more debate. Most of them, I found,
were willing to be convinced. But there was little doubt in
my mind that it would take time and lots of it really to bring
about "The Way Out." In later years it was gratifying to
note, however, that many leaders from our association became

"Nobody Else Will or Can99— Roosevelt 129

members of their local Housing Authorities, and quite a few
assumed the chairmanship.

But "laying my cards on the line," as I had done, be-
wildered many businessmen. It wasn't long before this parody
reached me from a mischievous well-wisher.

"Just see that happy moron,
He doesn't give a damn;
I wish I were a moron
Housed by a government man."

The talk, talk, talk of these sincere and earnest men re-
called Tom Paine's comment about the Continental Congress:
"Words pile up, and afterwards men do things. First the
words."

Being a realist, I wanted more than words from the meet-
ings. It was understandable that a session such as the one at
the Harvard Club in New York could not appropriately
commit a social group of that kind to a resolution in support
of any movement, let alone one as controversial as slum clear-
ance. But things were different with the National Association
of Building Owners and Managers. Its object was legitimately
to further its own ends. Slum clearance should certainly
qualify. A resolution of support from such an influential
group, one of the oldest and most highly respected in the
United States, would help in Washington and throughout
the country. So I went to work with a will.

Policy was determined by the Board of Governors, com-
posed of representatives from local associations in forty-four
cities widely scattered in twenty-eight states. The board met
on the last day of the convention. A resolution that Sam
Buckingham, of Cleveland, had helped prepare was intro-

130 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

duced by Carl Palmer, Cleveland's board member, whose
comprehensive understanding of the movement made us
slum-clearance kin though not blood brothers. After extended
debate, the resolution was referred to the Executive Com-
mittee of our Apartment House Division for action, and then
for transmittal to all members of the Board of Governors for
a vote by mail within thirty days.

That it would have tough sledding was forecast in a letter
from Robert Saunders, of St. Louis, chairman of the Apart-
ment House Division, who commented: "Everyone with
whom I talked feels that the association should keep hands
off; that the political aspects make it an undesirable matter
for the association."

So I was pleasantly surprised to learn that on August 5
favorable action had been taken by the Executive Committee
of the Apartment Housing Division. As a result, the follow-
ing resolution was transmitted to the Board of Governors of
the entire association.

Whereas, More than ten billions ($10,000,000,000) of dollars
have been invested in office buildings and apartment
houses owned or controlled by members of the National
Association of Building Owners and Managers, and

Whereas, The United States Government is now building hous-
ing projects in various cities of the country and is com-
mitted to the purpose of building more, and

Whereas, In the opinion of the Board of Governors of the
National Association of Building Owners and Man-
agers, government housing, when limited solely to
those citizens of the poorest class who cannot pay an
economic rent, is socially and economically desirable,
and

Whereas, Slum clearance and low rent housing perform a public
benefit by lessening the number and extent of public
services which must be provided those least fortunate

"Nobody Else Will or Can" — Roosevelt 131

and by decreasing the epidemic of disease and vice
which obtain in and radiate from slum areas, and

Whereas, It is axiomatic that private capital cannot produce
and maintain proper housing without an economic
return,

THEREFORE RESOLVED, that the National Association of
Building Owners and Managers approves the principle
of government support of housing projects to the extent
that they meet a need which private capital cannot
supply; and urges that capital and labor join in such
subsidy, capital through taxation, and labor, when
employed on such projects, through lower hourly wage
rates, but higher yearly incomes made possible through
annual instead of seasonal employment, and be it

FURTHER RESOLVED, that the President of the National As-
sociation of Building Owners and Managers transmit
to the President of the United States a copy of these
resolutions and make them available to the press.

By the middle of August, reactions began to arrive. For
the most part, those who approved merely voted "Aye" with-
out further comment, while those who opposed wrote at
length.

On September 10, President Turley wrote me, "As the
matter now stands, there have been twenty-eight associations
voted, sixteen favorably and twelve against, eighteen yet to
be heard from. On the weighted vote [votes per association
were based on the total assessed value of all member prop-
erties] it now stands 306 against and 250 for. Chicago
[78 votes] has not voted although I am told that if forced to,
they would cast a ballot against the resolution."

Since the weighted vote was what counted and as caucuses
had disclosed that some other large associations, besides
Chicago, would vote against, it was finally decided to with-
draw the resolution. We proponents had to be satisfied with

132 Adventure* of a Slum Fighter

the constructive discussion that the resolution had provoked.
It showed that understanding and sympathetic support was
slowly gaining.

Slum clearance in America was still an infant project. It
had to crawl before it learned to walk. As for me, I wanted
to yank it out of its play pen.

13

"ILLEGAL, ILLOGICAL,
CRAZY AS HELL!"

SENATOR WAGNER, who had placed his name
on the housing bill then under discussion, was planning to
visit Europe in midsummer of 1935, so Matt Daiger followed
up his earlier inquiry about a meeting with the Senator. This
came about when a few leaders joined me for dinner and to
see the films at the Mayflower in Washington, early in July.

It was felt that a central group should be working. At
least $25,000 was needed to establish and maintain a clearing-
house that would harmonize conflicting views and perfect
recommendations. Senator Wagner volunteered to try to get
the money through the President from his emergency fund.
He also felt it probable that a White House meeting might
be called by the President much along the lines originally
suggested to Hopkins.

The evening ended in good spirits and with high hopes.
Senator Wagner left Washington shortly thereafter for
Europe. Whether he ever discussed it with the President,
Daiger and I never found out. So I chalked up another win
by default for the opposition.

While in Washington, Clark Howell and I were to get
together on July 17 to check up on housing. "Mr. Clark" was
in the nation's capital trying to pull some of Gene Talmadge's

133

134 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

political chestnuts out of the fire. "Ole Gene" Talmadge was
the tobacco-chewing, swaggering governor of Georgia, and
self-styled "leader of the pee-pul," whose leadership was often
tinged with self-interest. It was he who had stymied the intro-
duction of a housing bill in the Georgia legislature at its
past session. "Ole Gene" had a simple rule from which he
never deviated: he was "agin" anything and everything that
Roosevelt wanted.

The Governor's opposition was active. He had declined to
submit his federal-fund road projects to the Works Progress
Administrator in Georgia. As a result, the flow of money
from Uncle Sam's voluminous pockets was stopped. And it was
in the hope of starting the flow again that Howell had
arranged for Talmadge to see the President. Despite the fact
that Talmadge was as anti-Roosevelt as Huey Long, the
Chief Executive had received him cordially. The President
assured Clark Howell and the Governor that $19,000,000 was
"on the hook" just waiting for Georgia to straighten out its
affairs. They were told to go to the Bureau of Public Roads
and see its chief, T. H MacDonald. From his subsequent
meeting that afternoon with MacDonald, Talmadge got little
encouragement. So when Howell brought him to my apart-
ment just before dinner, "Ole Gene" was ready to blow his
top. A mint julep pacified him momentarily, and we saun-
tered over to the roof of the Army and Navy Club to escape
the heat and get something to eat.

While waiting for dinner to be served, the Governor
sipped a second julep and began muttering about the Presi-
dent and MacDonald.

"Their reasoning is illegal!" he suddenly blurted out. "It's
illegal, illogical, and crazy as hell!"

The Governor apparently could not— or would not— accept
the stipulations other states were meeting to obtain federal

"Illegal, Illogical, Crazy as Hett!" 135

road funds. His colorful phraseology kept coming back to
me as he rambled on. But it seemed to me that "illegal,
illogical, crazy as hell!" particularly applied to the Governor
himself, rather than to the President and the Chief of the
Bureau of Public Roads.

Mellowing with the meal, Talmadge asked me about slum
clearance in Atlanta.

"Now that you've got Techwood goin', Palmer," he ob-
served, "and made a little money out of it, I s'pose you'll
get into somethin' else."

"Not necessarily, Governor," I replied. "You see, slum
clearance has a lot more to it than just the business angle.
Clear slums, and you help people."

"Well, you're wrong there," he retorted. "Slums don't hurt
nobody. In fact, slums are good for people. Makes 'em
stronger. You gotta be strong to survive 'em. Take Jack John-
son. He came from the slums. He's their product."

I had met this kind of illogical reasoning before: drawing
a general conclusion from a single example. So when Tal-
madge mentioned my recent trip to Europe, I took another
tack.

"A great many years ago," I explained, "the British passed
compulsory housing laws not unlike our pure-food laws.
They made it as illegal to rent an insanitary house as it is
illegal to sell impure meat in the United States. You believe
in the pure-food laws of our country, don't you, Governor?"

The question seemed to stump "Ole Gene," but not for
long. He pushed back his rumpled white linen coat, tilted
his chair, put a thumb under each red gallus, snapped them,
and plumped back to the floor again.

"Naw!" he denied with vigor. "If we didn't have the pure-
food laws, folks would be more careful what they et!"

Ridiculous, of course. And probably the Governor meant

136 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

much less than he said. He was a great one for verbal gym-
nastics and liked to think that he could maintain any position,
no matter how untenable. His stand on slum clearance and
the pure-food laws was certainly "illegal, illogical, and crazy
as hell!"

As the summer wore on and the construction of Techwood
progressed, new problems developed. Some of the positions
taken were literally "crazy as hell." I couldn't by the wildest
stretch of the imagination believe that they could happen-
but they did.

The City Attorney of Atlanta ruled that land owned by
"the United States of America ... is no longer within the
State or City for any purpose except the service of criminal
process. Under this advice, I think the people who reside on
this reservation [Techwood or University Homes] would not
be subject to City regulations, including police and fire,
health, etc., or City taxation, or otherwise." Interpreting that
dictum literally, the two projects could burn to the ground,
and the City of Atlanta wouldn't lift a hand to put out the
conflagration.

Fortunately, the Attorney General of the United States
came to our rescue by ruling that civil jurisdiction remained
with the City and State, and that tenants retained their
franchise privileges and were entitled to fire and police pro-
tection as well as use of the schools.

Applications for occupancy were pouring in, and the
Techwood Advisory Committee was pressing Washington for
a statement of policy. By September 11, conditions were so
demoralized that Clark Howell, on behalf of the committee,
sent an official letter to Secretary Ickes, listing Housing Divi-
sion inaction in detail.

Receiving no acknowledgment to his letter, Howell tele-

"Illegal, Illogical, Crazy as Hell!" 137

graphed Ickes on the twenty-fourth: "ADVISORY BOARD TO
MEET THIS WEEK AND PREPARE TO TENDER ITS RESIGNATION UN-
LESS SOMETHING IS DONE TO RELIEVE SITUATION FEEL WE

CAN NO LONGER ASSUME RESPONSIBILITY FOR FAILURE TO GET
ACTION IN WASHINGTON."

This wire got the ball rolling at last. Howell and the
Advisory Committee asked me to handle the matter with
Ickes. But nearly a month went by before we could get to-
gether. Meanwhile, it became increasingly evident that legis-
lation was needed to straighten out the conflict between na-
tional and local jurisdictions, so we called in Senator George,
of Georgia, to help. By the time of our conference, Ickes was
able to show some progress along legislative and other lines.
So the Advisory Committee decided that, having once become
members of the crew, it would stick with the ship, no matter
how rough the seas, or how inefficient the navigator in the
person of the Secretary of the Interior.

President Roosevelt dedicated Techwood on November 29,
1935. Since the occasion was in the nature of a home-coming
celebration— the President called Georgia his "second home"
—the stands of Georgia Tech Stadium, across the street from
Techwood, were jammed by tens of thousands of loyal
supporters.

Colonel E. W. Starling, Chief of the White House Secret
Service, swung off the President's car, a hand on his gun in
the pocket of his overcoat, as the official party stopped for a
view of Techwood before entering the stadium. With the
President were Mrs. Roosevelt, Senator George, and Senator
Russell. Just as my movie camera started clicking at close
quarters, the President viewed his first slum-clearance project.
His face was grave for an instant, then broke into one of the
happiest smiles I ever saw on his forceful, happy face. Mrs.
Roosevelt, bundled in furs with a large orchid showing, was

138 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

beside him. He turned quickly, reached out his hand for
hers, and they grinned with delight.

"Isn't it grand!" the President declared. "They're really
getting on with the job. I just love it!"

Then he pushed the button that unveiled the bronze
dedicatory plaque on the wall of the nearest apartment.

The President's reception glowed with warmth and affec-
tion for a leader whose humanitarian principles and policies
were accepted by the throng as marking him one of the truly
great figures in world history. He took the speaker's platform
on the arm of his son, James. His address was about national
and world affairs, as well as housing.

"Within sight of us today," he said of Techwood, "stands
a tribute to useful work under government supervision— the
first slum-clearance and low-rent housing project. Here, at
the request of the citizens of Atlanta, we have cleaned out
nine square blocks of antiquated, squalid dwellings, for years
a detriment to the community. Today those hopeless old
houses are gone, and in their places we see the bright, cheerful
buildings of the Techwood Housing Project. Within a very
short time, people who never before could get a decent roof
over their heads will live here in reasonable comfort amid
healthful, worth-while surroundings; others will find similar
homes in Atlanta's second slum clearance, the University
Homes Project, and still others will find similar opportunity
in nearly all of the older, overcrowded cities of the United
States."

Now that direct action had started on the slums of Atlanta,
the studies of what had been done to the slums of other
countries took on added significance. These, although cover-
ing much ground, had not touched the Orient. So I was par-
ticularly happy to be invited to meet and talk with Toyohiko

"Illegal, Illogical, Crazy as Hell!" 139

Kagawa, who was interested in the slum problems of his
country, when he came to Atlanta in December, 1935.

Kagawa had been detained by the immigration authorities
at San Francisco because of regulations against persons with
trachoma entering the United States. I learned that his case
of this dreaded eye disease had been contracted while sharing
his bed with a beggar. When we met, Kagawa peered through
thick lenses set in black, horn-rimmed frames, apparently
having great difficulty in seeing at all. His thick black hair
began far back on a pear-shaped head balanced by two large
ears with prominent lobes. His wide mouth, under a broad
nose, broke into a friendly smile.

Kagawa spoke English, having studied at Princeton, and
looked older than his forty-seven years. Already suffering
from tuberculosis, he had not expected to live long when he
started his slum studies at the age of twenty-one. Though
disease had taken its toll, when talking about his experiences
he acted very much alive.

Kagawa told me that he felt so strongly about the slum
problem that he had lived for years in the worst area of the
notorious Shinkawa District in Kobe. He had chosen that
vile neighborhood despite his samurai family background and
a father who had held a secretaryship to the Privy Council in
Japan. Kagawa had embraced Christianity, which was a strong
factor in leading him to devote his life to those whom he
felt needed him.

"First I found a house that you might say was at the bottom
of the well of humanity," he explained. "The only reason I
was able to get it was because my neighbors thought it
haunted by the victim who had recently been murdered
there.

"Have you been in Japan? No? Well, I'll describe for you
a little of what my slum hut was like. It was about six feet

140 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

square, without windows, and the walls were so flimsy that,
at a time when I was caring for ten people who were down
and out, I simply knocked out a wall to make a little more
room for them. The shack was like all others in Shinkawa,
where ten thousand people live in these six-by-sixes. Some-
times two families, comprising eight or nine people, live in
a single hut. Over a hundred use the same toilet. You have
seen the slums of Europe and America. But ours in Japan
are worse because the buildings are so small and fragile. We
even use paper doors, and in winter it is often very cold.

"The scavengers, jinrikisha men, pimps, gamblers, and
prostitutes who were my neighbors spent much time in idle-
ness. Most of the children had some disease of the skin. The
infant mortality rate exceeded five hundred per thousand. I
reached the conclusion that the slum problem in Japan was
so vast that the only attack with any promise of success must
be through liberating the laborers. If they could be freed
from their semislavery, if they could earn more, then eventu-
ally the slum conditions would be a little less bad because the
inhabitants would have a bit more to spend.

"Since these unfortunates had no leader, I assumed that
role. First I wrote a book of my slum experience called Across
the Death Line. I wrote articles on the subject for the news-
papers. And I became a militant agitator at public meetings.
The slums in Japan, and all over the world, must be wiped
out!"

A study of Kagawa's works disclosed that he wrote for the
world. His graphic poem "Shinkawa" might well have been
"Naples" or even "Washington," as far as the people of the
slums or the smells and the squalor were concerned.

From thoughts far afield on the slums of the Orient, I was
snapped back home to the continuing problems of Tech-

"Illegal, Illogical, Crazy as Hell!" 141

wood. On January 27, 1936, Comptroller General of the
United States J. R. McCarl, who had already thrown more
than his share of monkey wrenches into slum-clearance ma-
chinery, ruled that rents on Techwood, the sorely wounded
guinea pig, must be high enough to pay back to the govern-
ment the entire cost of land and buildings, plus all operating
expenses. He added that, because Techwood was United
States property, no part of the rentals could be diverted to
reimburse the City of Atlanta, in lieu of taxes, for fire and
police protection, or for school, sewerage, sanitary, and street-
maintenance facilities. This nullified tentative agreements
between the Department of the Interior and the City of
Atlanta for Techwood to pay a service charge in place of
taxes. It also made mandatory such high rents that those for
whom the project was intended could not afford to live there.

Now it became necessary to find some solution for this
new problem, so a corrective bill was prepared that Senator
George introduced into the Senate. It was passed on March
27, 1936. Congressman Ramspeck handled the legislation in
the House, and by May, President Roosevelt had signed a
law that put Techwood and similar developments back on the
track originally intended.

Clark Howell, meanwhile, had returned from the Pacific,
where he had attended the inauguration of the new Com-
monwealth of the Philippines. And he was displeased, to say
the least, with the situation in which he found Techwood.
We all felt that most of the trouble came from the ineptness
of Ickes and his staff. So Howell took pen in hand and stated
our case in no uncertain terms. We were all properly in-
censed by the cavalier treatment we had been receiving from
Washington. Our advice had been repeatedly sought and as
repeatedly ignored.

Back to Washington I went, armed with Howell's letter.

142 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

By now I knew every pole along the railroad and every town
from the sky. I presented the letter to the proper authorities,
and the gears began to grind again.

My hope that we would get action was finally justified.
Decisions began to come through. Howell continued to help
as only he was in a position to do.

While all these trapeze acts were going on in the three-ring
housing circus, there were some enthusiasts pushing for com-
prehensive legislation to revamp the entire setup. I did not
share their optimism that the bill they had persuaded Senator
Wagner to sponsor was adequate, or that proper backing for
it could be arranged. I had been through too many battles,
and though I didn't wear wound stripes, I carried the scars.

We were witnessing nationally that which we had already
seen locally: those against slum-clearance housing were shout-
ing from the housetops, while those for the program were
standing mute, especially the ones whose influence could do
the most good.

The answer still seemed to be through some such approach
as "The Way Out." But that kind of broad attack was not
being used in the hearings before the Senate committee on
the Wagner bill. It was mostly single-shot ammunition. Tes-
timony was taken for days during April, but the "Housing
Act of 1936" never got very far. At best it proved to the sup-
porters of public housing that better groundwork should be
laid in advance the next time.

During this backing and filling in America, high-ranking
British kept crying out against slums on every possible occa-
sion. Even the launching of the Queen Mary afforded an
opportunity to speak on the subject.

"Edward VIII, new King of England," Arthur Brisbane
reported on March 17, 1936, "visited the magnificently
luxurious ocean steamer, Queen Mary, in Glasgow; then went

"Illegal, Illogical, Crazy as Hell!" 143

from house to house knocking on doors, visiting some of the
worst slum dwellings in all of his Kingdom. Later, talking to
Lord Melchett, the King put the problem of England, this
country, and the whole world, in these few words: 'How do
you reconcile a world that has produced this mighty ship with
the slums we have just visited?' " So spoke John Bull.

14

LADY ASTOR AND
LADIES IN LIMEHOIJSE

BY THE SPRING of 1936, Laura and I had become
increasingly impatient to return to England. Two years be-
fore, when we'd made that quick swing around Europe,
we promised ourselves to be back soon for a more extended
study of what the British had done about slum clearance. We
had seen enough the previous trip to know that they could
teach us much in America. We wanted to have a look at the
Midlands and Scotland, too.

Before deciding on any extended travel, Laura, as always,
first made sure that the plans for the children were properly
arranged. This year they would be off to summer camp, as
usual. Margaret was a young lady now, nearly seventeen, and
would go away to college in the fall. Our younger daughters,
Laura and Jeannette, would remain in school in Atlanta.

Watching the three grow into womanhood, we realized
that our tightly knit family would soon be breaking up.
The girls had been publishing The Brookwood Bugle regu-
larly for four years. It had reached a circulation of two hun-
dred copies in twenty states and four foreign countries. But
with Margaret going away to college, the children decided to
print a gala final edition, and The Bugle ended on a tri-
umphant note.

144

Lady Astor and Ladies in Limehouse 145

So Laura and I began packing our bags, meanwhile arrang-
ing for passage on the maiden voyage of the Queen Mary from
New York to Southhampton in June. Since we planned to
visit the major cities of Great Britain, I carefully stowed my
photographic equipment in the luggage, and we also took
along a faithful Ford coupe.

As the newest vessel of the Cunard Line came into the
harbor at Southampton on June 10, speedboats and planes
rushed out to meet her. Excursion steamers, jammed with
cheering Britishers, formed an escort to the dock, where
thousands more waved handkerchiefs and hats and roared a
warm welcome.

The Atlantic crossing had been calm and peaceful, and
Laura and I were well rested. So after a hearty breakfast early
the next morning, we were off to visit the slums of Southamp-
ton. A car and driver were put at our disposal by Mr.
Meggeson, the town clerk, for which I was thankful as I was
hesitant about tackling the British left-handed traffic regula-
tions with our Ford. Dr. Payne, from the local Department of
Health, acted as our guide.

Southampton's first Council Housing, we were told, was
built in 1911, when sixty-nine two- to five-story flats were
built within the old town wall. As a large proportion of their
local workmen, naturally enough, were dock laborers, with
intermittent duties at small pay, it was imperative to keep
rents at the lowest possible level. So most of the houses con-
tained, as the British called them, "nonparlour" flats, with
three bedrooms, which they were able to rent at just under
two dollars a week.

We spent most of the day visiting the slums and the areas
to which the inhabitants were being moved. While Laura
plied Dr. Payne with questions, I kept my camera clicking.
The new developments were attractive and well tended.

146 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

"Corporation trams" provided the necessary transportation
for the workers to the docks where they were employed. This
minor detail might easily have been overlooked, but we dis-
covered that it was much more important than it seemed.
Some housing projects on the edge of town, in fact, were
having difficulty in getting tenants, as the weekly tram fare
to and from the docks totaled over a dollar, which was more
than half their rent. I was reminded for the thousandth time
that in planning housing projects it is sometimes fatal to
overlook the slightest detail.

Several of the projects had been built by the Council with
direct labor, instead of letting it out to private contractors.
This method, we were told, had saved them some money.
The developments we saw ranged in size from Houndwell,
with but 26 dwellings, to the Burgess Road Housing Scheme,
where 1,164 units had been built on 102 acres. In the center
was a i5-acre park through which a brook lazily meandered.

Most of what we saw conformed to the orthodox with one
exception. This was a development for dockers near the
wharves. Only a limited site was available, and the Council
wanted to put it to the most extensive use as, to save that
relatively substantial bus fare, the low-income dock laborers
had to be housed within walking distance of their work. The
Council also wished to avoid the usual flats, first, because
of the large number of children per family, and also because
of the difficulty and cost in maintaining public halls and
stairs. That was another salient point to keep in mind: before
the architects go to work on their planning boards, be sure to
check whether the number of persons per family in the slum
area is higher than the national average. Chances are that
it is.

The architects working on this development near the docks
finally evolved a design of two-story "nonparlour" houses,

Lady Astor and Ladies in Limehouse 147

superimposed one upon the other. This created a four-story
building in which each unit had the privacy and amenities
of the normal two-story home. The first floor of each dwelling
consisted of a large living room, a "scullery," or kitchen, with
bath and "W.C.," or water closet, adjoining the latter. On
the second floor there were three ample bedrooms.

A long, open balcony extended across the rear at what
would have been the roof line of the ground-floor houses.
This balcony gave access to the first floors of the upper
houses and was reached by stairs at either end. Every house
thus became a self-contained unit, with its own interior
stairs and with no public space for the Council to maintain.
Laura and I thought it most ingenious.

"It's practical and delightful at the same time," she summed
it up. "Instead of the forced intimacy of apartments, these
tenants have the privacy of their own homes."

"And," I added, as Dr. Payne smilingly nodded, "by put-
ting one set of houses atop another, they have doubled the
number of dwelling units on the limited acreage."

The residents we spoke to were unanimously enthusiastic
and said they much preferred their private dwellings to the
regulation flats. And they were happy, of course, that the
proximity of their homes to the docks made it unnecessary
for them to spend five or six precious shillings a week for
transportation. Item to remember: be certain that the tenants
of low-rent developments can get to and from work easily and
inexpensively.

When discussing management, I sensed political patronage
in selecting rent collectors. The whole system, as laid down
in their printed instructions, was too inflexible for use with
former slum dwellers. There was no genuine, human con-
tact, no effort to teach cleanliness or better diet. The use of
women under the Octavia Hill System would probably be

148 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

better. That had already been proved to us by Miss Alice
Samuels of Liverpool.

The next morning we piled bag and baggage into the Ford
coupe, and I got behind the wheel, wishing I had a sextant
and compass to guide me in driving on the "wrong" side of
the road. Fortunately, it would be some time before we hit
the heavy traffic around London, and Laura spelled me at the
wheel to orient herself at "left-handed driving," too.

Determined not to miss anything of interest this trip, we
stopped at the smaller towns along the highway. At Ports-
mouth we found that about 10 per cent of the population
lived in public housing. At Chichester there was a strong
demand for five-bedroom houses to alleviate overcrowding in
large families. The poor, I reflected, seem to find comfort in
numerous offspring. At Brighton we were steered to Dr.
Forbes, the Medical Officer of Health, a robust, genial gentle-
man who bubbled over with enthusiasm when we mentioned
that our primary interest was slum clearance.

"Well, well!" he exclaimed. "So you in the States are
starting slum clearance, too. Excellent! Excellent! We here
in Brighton have been at it long enough to place about ten
per cent of our people in Council Houses, something like
three thousand dwellings. But there's much to be done before
all the slums are wiped out."

I had learned long ago that it's not always easy to dig out
the salient facts. But here was somebody who, at first glance,
I was sure, would come out with the unvarnished truth. I
asked him if they'd had any particular problems.

"Too many," he admitted. "The folks who handle the
money often try to save in the wrong places. D' you know
what those stupid officials did to cut the cost of a house less
than five pounds? They insisted upon lowering the height of
the windows by one foot! This insane idea not only curtailed

Lady Astor and Ladies in Limehouse 149

the sunlight in the houses but left a thirty-inch pocket below
each ceiling where overheated and stagnant air was bound to
accumulate. That's bad for health! And, mind you, the sav-
ings effected on the loan charges amounts to less than a penny
per house per week! Did you ever hear of anything more
foolish and miserly?"

Dr. Forbes paused for breath, but he wasn't done yet, not
by a long shot.

"These financial officials," he went on vehemently, "carry
on in that way despite the added revenue we supply locally
from a scheme of our own to lower rents. No other place has
a similar plan, and you may care to hear about it."
"Please go on," Laura urged him.

"It's the cinema tax," Dr. Forbes explained. "The picture
shows pay a certain amount to the city for permission to
remain open on Sunday. It runs up to about a thousand
pounds a year. Half goes to the hospitals and half to lower
the rent for aged people in their specialized houses. Normally
they would pay about eight shillings a week, but the cinema
tax lowers it to as little as a shilling, according to need."

"From two dollars to only a quarter a week," Laura said
in surprise. "Why, that's wonderful!"

"There is one factor of primary importance," Dr. Forbes
went on, "that I am sure you good people in the States will
want to keep in mind. That is location. Houses too far from
work just don't rent."

Laura and I exchanged understanding glances. "The folks
in Southampton found that out," she said, "to their sorrow."
"Yes, I know," Dr. Forbes nodded. "The country cottage,
of course, has its points. It's private and quiet. But the vast
majority of people want to live as close as possible to the
center of the city. And for very good reasons. First, they can
walk to work. And besides, a surprising number of them take

150 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

their midday meals at home. This gives 'em hot food, which
is desirable for good health, and it's less costly than buying
a meal near the job. Of course, we could build our housing
developments farther out of town if cheap transportation
were provided. At present that difficulty is partly solved with
concessions by the tramways and bus services to those travel-
ing before eight in the morning. Personally, I would strongly
suggest the extension of cheap fares, by subsidy if need be."
Dr. Forbes reminded me of our rural family doctors back
home. His interest in the health of all who lived in Brighton
was more like that of a fatherly adviser rather than that of
an impersonal Medical Officer of Health. It was significant
that he found housing to be of vital influence on community
health. Here was a man who spoke not from idle theory but
from the hard facts of long experience. We thanked him
sincerely as we said good-by.

We unfortunately missed the town clerks at Canterbury
and Tunbridge Wells since we passed through on Saturday
afternoon and their offices were closed for the weekend. But
while we didn't see the interiors of their Council Houses,
the age of the surrounding buildings was, by contrast, all
too evident. To find the residents of these ancient and honor-
able cities alert to the needs of modern housing, and really
doing something about it, made us feel ashamed at the late
start our own country was making.

The drive into London on Sunday, June 13, was free
enough of the terrific weekday traffic so that we reached the
Carl ton Hotel in the center of things without physical injury.
But the mental anguish of "left-handed traffic" had me in a
sweat. I'd never have made it without mishap if Laura hadn't
acted as navigator. Our Ford had, of course, the steering
wheel on the left in American style, and I couldn't see

Lady Astor and Ladies in Lim chouse 151

whether it was safe to pass another vehicle. When a car ap-
proached, I instinctively started to turn to the right until
Laura put a warning hand on my arm. And whenever an
immense double-deck bus raced straight at us with a fiendish
roar, I jammed down on the brake pedal and waited tensely
until it had rushed past us. It was an immense relief to get
into the restful Sunday quiet of our hotel.

The London newspapers were filled with encouraging
reports of the progress made in slum clearance since our pre-
vious visit in 1934. The five-year plan for the United
Kingdom was proceeding on schedule. A half-million slum
dwellers, it was said, had already been moved to new, clean
homes. Others were being transferred to new houses at the
rate of some 26,000 a month. The British, we felt as we went
through the papers, had every right to crow over their ac-
complishments in clearing the slums.

Lewis Silkin, chairman of the Housing and Public Health
Committee of the London County Council, was apparently
making the headway he had hoped for when I conferred
with him two years before. The Council's slum-clearance
activities had extended to twenty of the twenty-eight metro-
politan boroughs, with eighty developments in progress
throughout the London area.

All this, Silkin had publicly announced, was but the begin-
ning of a new day in slum clearance. The past had seen much
done in the London area; but it had been piecemeal, for
the most part. Now he was eager to have the Council use
the powers and subsidies available from the Central Govern-
ment to make a strong attack on the deplorable conditions
in the notorious East End.

It was the same story— though on a much larger scale-
that we had met in Southampton. The dockers, Silkin in-

152 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

sisted, must be provided with homes close to their work.
According to a survey just completed, in the Limehouse area
of the East India Docks and the Isle of Dogs more than 60,000
people were living in slums with another 103,000 in over-
crowded dwellings.

The East-Ender, Silkin pointed out, was a great person,
and the district in which he lived had a character all its own.
It was far too fine to destroy, and he would not wish to break
it up or cause it to lose its identity. The East-Ender, he
affirmed, well deserved decent housing conditions, and the
Council would do its utmost to provide them. He was confi-
dent that the public would be prepared to accept any pro-
posal, no matter how drastic, for the removal of the terrible
cancer of the slums. There would be "considerable financial
recoupment, but the benefit in terms of health and happiness
would be incalculable."

If the Council eventually adopted a plan such as he had
outlined— which would be the largest program for redevelop-
ment ever undertaken by local authority— the slums of Lon-
don, Silkin said, could be cleared within six years, "if the
present administration continued."

That "if" made me wonder how much of Silkiri's brave
statement was actual intent and how much was politics. He
was a true humanitarian and sincerely wanted to clear the
East End. But he was a realist as well and, back in 1934, had
helped Sir Arthur Henderson to unseat those controlling the
L. C. C. by claiming "not enough done," and using the potent
slogan, "Up with the houses, down with the slums."

No one knew better than Silkin the colossal problems pre-
sented by the Stepney and Poplar districts, loosely known as
the East End, Whitechapel, or Limehouse section of London.
In it were Shoreditch, Bethnal Green, and the district where

Lady Astor and Ladies in Limehouse 153

Bill Sikes, Dickens's notorious character in Oliver Twist,
had carried on his nefarious schemes.

This area had been populated for over two thousand years.
With the coming of William the Conqueror, Stepney was
built on London's border. In the time of Henry VIII and
Queen Elizabeth I, it was a seaman's haven and furnished
many ships to fight the Spanish Armada. The workmen came
from the Limehouse district, so named for its lime kilns.
Small businesses also settled in the East End to escape regu-
lation by the city's guilds. Over the centuries, this section
of London became populated by a motley crew of cut-
throats and harridans and other rogues.

It wasn't until 1806 that a water system was built, and it
provided service arbitrarily for but a few businesses and
homes. Most people still used open wells that bred disease.
A half century later, in 1852, the East London Water Com-
pany was required to supply water for all if petitions in writ-
ing from 80 per cent of the residents were received. Since
the vast majority of the population was hopelessly illiterate,
this law was unenforceable. As late as 1870, in one East End
court some two hundred and fifty people shared a single tap,
which was open for but twenty-five minutes a day and was
closed entirely on Sundays.

Over a century ago it had been said: "The people never
die here; they are murdered by the fever. The state of back-
yards and the streets were enough to nourish and breed a
pestilence." The seventeenth-century laws to prevent slums
in London had, instead of accomplishing their worthy pur-
pose, encouraged building outside the city limits, where its
restrictions could be defied. Consequently, small tenements,
many of them in basements, had been built in the East End,
and some of them still remained when we visited the area in
1936. They distressingly reminded us of the days when

154 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

Burke and Hare, and other infamous "body snatchers," dug
the dead from their graves, and even murdered poor unfor-
tunates, selling the bodies to medical schools for anatomical
study.

Dickens's outcry, it is true, had forced the Borough Council
to build a block of flats back in 1862, and quite a bit more
had been done since the turn of the present century. But with
something like 200,000 people— more than the whole popula-
tion of Plymouth— living in squalid, ancient, two-story slums
on 1,900 acres— only a fifth of the area of Plymouth— Lewis
Silkin faced a multitude of problems, one of which had
stumped all his predecessors and still seemed insoluble. It
was the immediate matter of rehousing the people while the
slum areas in which they had lived were undergoing recon-
struction. That poser would surely make even the Sphinx
hesitate thoughtfully.

However, public housing was speeding along in London,
as elsewhere in the United Kingdom, and it was my feeling
that Silkin might very well pull off his redevelopment of
the East End. If he failed, it certainly wouldn't be for want
of trying. And if he was successful, the accomplishment would
be in magnitude not unlike the vast reclamations of the
Pontine Marshes in Italy and, I reflected, just about as long
deferred.

A day or two later, Laura and I called on Dr. Margaret
Miller, secretary of the Society of Women Housing Estate
Managers. She was a diminutive, brisk woman, all business
to her finger tips. We were interested to learn that she was
shortly leaving for the United States to study our slum
conditions.

"Before discussing what we women housing managers do
in England," she began, "I wonder if you'd mind if I checked

Lady Astor and Ladies in Limehouse 155

with you some of my impressions of the States. Then you can
set me straight if I am in error."

"Not at all," I assured her. "We'd be happy to have your
views."

"First of all," Dr. Miller said, "I understand that you still
have no well-defined national policy on slum clearance. You
apparently have not decided just exactly what you want to
do. Such uncertainty, I'm afraid, must halt directed effort
because it is certain to create hesitation and doubt in your
people."

"Score a hit," I said as she paused momentarily.

"Secondly, isn't there an actual psychological barrier? I
understand that your country is so wedded to individualism—"

"Rugged individualism," I put in.

"That it is difficult to recognize that government action is
absolutely imperative in the clearing of slums. Representa-
tives of private enterprises, like your real-estate men and
apartment-house owners, are, I am given to understand, bit-
terly opposed to government assistance. Public opinion, too,
I am told, is completely apathetic. There is no clear recog-
nition, by your society as a whole, that bad housing is a social
evil. The average, comfortable American citizen, it seems to
me, is inclined to believe that people live in slums either
because they prefer to do so, or because they deserve to
do so."

"Hit number two," Laura murmured.

"That is a cruel error," Dr. Miller said flatly, "a monstrous
error. But until your public conscience is aroused, as is ours
in England, there will not be much hope for a comprehensive
housing movement in the United States."

"You must have been looking over Uncle Sam's shoulder,
Dr. Miller," I replied with a sigh. "Wherever your impres-
sions may have come from, they are as accurate as if you had

156 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

seen and heard everything for yourself. I would make but one
qualification to your remarks. Your observation that public
conscience must be aroused to bring about slum clearance on
the large scale needed is certainly applicable. But in America
the economic appeal, I am glad to say, is making some head-
way already. Our businessmen and bankers are learning that
it costs more to keep slums than to clear them. And in the
present depressed state of our economy, they have found
that slum clearance makes jobs for otherwise idle workers.
This realization is gradually prodding action while we await
the awakening of all our citizens to their social duty in the
reclamation of the slums."

"I'm glad," Dr. Miller replied with a smile, "that the
movement is gradually catching on in the States; and thank
you for verifying my impressions. When your program has
gone on far enough to have tens of thousands of houses
built—and I'm certain that time will come— then our experi-
ence with women managers may be of help to you."

"We understand," Laura said, "that you make rather ex-
tensive use of women as managers for your housing develop-
ments. How did it come about?"

"It all started with Octavia Hill back in the early eighteen-
sixties," Dr. Miller explained. "Coming from a good family,
and determined to devote her life to social work, Miss Hill
soon discovered that bad housing was a serious handicap in
getting anything constructive done. In time she interested
a Mr. John Ruskin in purchasing some run-down properties
and undertook their management herself. She wanted to
demonstrate, as she put it, that 'you cannot deal with people
and their houses separately,' if you expect to get the best
results. She realized the obvious: that a good home makes
better men and women, and children, too. Her basic prin-
ciples were those of the rugged individualist, Mr. Palmer.

Lady Astor and Ladies in Limehouse 157

She was unalterably opposed to subsidy, for it was her con-
viction that employers should pay sufficient wages to their
workers to obviate the need for state aid. If, she reasoned,
the head of a family was forced to get along without a rent
subsidy, his employer would be obliged to pay him an ade-
quate wage. Putting it another way, Octavia Hill maintained
that rent subsidies by the state were actually subsidies to
employers since they enabled management to pay lower
wages."

On hearing this extremely progressive view, I nodded in
agreement as Laura glanced at me inquiringly.

"Well," I said, "I am amazed that anyone would have had
such a breadth of vision nearly a century ago. But I wonder
what would happen if I expressed similar views to some
businessmen I know back home."

Dr. Miller smiled and continued the story of Octavia Hill.
"She kept rents down without subsidy by enlisting the help
of her tenants. She took them into her confidence— making
them partners, sort of, in their common enterprise— telling
them how much money she had available for repairs and
maintenance, and then promising certain improvements by
sharing any savings they could help her effect. By this per-
sonal approach, wanton damage was soon almost completely
eliminated. Many men made small repairs themselves so their
wives might get a longed-for cupboard or wash stool pur-
chased from the money that would otherwise have gone for
ordinary upkeep of the premises. Octavia Hill cut cleaning
costs by organizing bands of young girls to scrub the stairs
at six pennies a week, thus providing them with what was
welcome pin money in those days." Dr. Miller turned to Laura.
"By the way, Mrs. Palmer, you'll be surprised to learn that
such a progressive woman was vigorously opposed to woman
suffrage."

158 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

"I am surprised," Laura agreed. "We had some militant
suffragists in the U.S., just as you did here in England, until
we got our franchise. Whatever possessed Octavia Hill to
take such a stand against her own sex?"

"We must take into consideration," Dr. Miller replied,
"the fact that Octavia lived in the Victorian era and was a
product of her times. Consequently, she believed that men
and women were different in order to complement each
other's work. If, she argued, women voted and held public
office, they would give less time to the humane work for
which they were particularly fitted, such as teaching, nursing,
caring for the sick, the aged, and the erring. This forthright,
uncompromising philosophy was the cornerstone of Miss
Hill's work in low-rent housing. The personal collection of
rents gave her the opportunity of seeing her tenants regu-
larly. Anyone else would have been stopped by the hostile
reception they gave her as the rent collector. But Octavia
Hill persevered despite the frequent necessity of making calls
at night, crawling over drunken men in dark corridors, fall-
ing into filthy puddles, and enduring evil odors. Despite the
most violent insults shouted at her, she remained unmoved
and imperturbably went on with her work. Oh, I could go
on all day talking about Octavia Hill. The example she left
is what spurs other women housing managers to keep on, no
matter how difficult the circumstances."

"She was undoubtedly a great woman," Laura quietly re-
marked. "I wish we had an army of women like her back
home."

"Hers is a most inspiring story," I agreed. "But how do
things stand today?"

"Women now manage," Dr. Miller told us, "about forty-
five thousand housing units. The practice gradually spread
throughout England and Scotland, then to Holland, Sweden,

Lady Astor and Ladies in Limehouse 159

and South Africa. There is even an Octavia Hill Association
in Philadelphia. The principle on which we operate is that
through weekly visits by women concerning rents and re-
pairs, it is easy to keep an unobtrusive eye on all parts of
each house without creating the suspicion that special inspec-
tors invariably arouse. Where differential rents are involved,
or rents graded on the basis of ability to pay, a woman can
discuss the family budget with the housewife more intimately
than a man. And when it comes to settling new tenants from
a slum, the trained woman housing manager is again in a
better position to secure the co-operation of the housewife in
preventing the transfer and spread of vermin in clothing
and furnishings. She is also able to offer intelligent advice on
purchases for the new house from the tenant's limited funds.
Thus she establishes friendly relations with a family even
before they move into their new home."

While Dr. Miller was at last catching her breath, I asked
where we might see a representative estate managed by a
woman.

"Perhaps the most convenient one here in London," she
informed us, "would be the Saint Pancras Housing Improve-
ment Society, which has been operating on the Octavia Hill
System since 1924. Miss Perry is in charge. I'll arrange a time
that will be mutually convenient and then phone you at
your hotel."

"That will be fine," I said.

"Before you go," Dr. Miller added, "you may be interested
in what one of your former countrymen, Lady Astor, thinks
of our work. She wrote a brief foreword to a little pamphlet
on the work of women property managers." She turned to one
of the bookshelves that lined her office and pulled out a little
folder. This is what Lady Astor said:

"It has always seemed to me that if there is one thing in

160 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

the world in which women could and should be experts, it
was the planning and administration of houses and housing
schemes. Practical experience, common sense and imagina-
tion, combined with technical training, can transform many
of our worst slum areas, as Octavia Hill showed, and I feel
sure that it would be to the national advantage if greater use
were made of trained women in the management of those
new houses and communities which have grown all too
slowly."

"Lady Astor," Dr. Miller concluded, ''knows whereof she
speaks. She is extremely active in the slums of Plymouth as
well as in London. We regard her very highly indeed."

Laura and I heartily agreed to these sentiments. After
thanking Dr. Miller for her generous time, and wishing her
a fruitful trip to the States, we went back to the Carlton.

"Well," I said as we relaxed over a cup of tea in our rooms,
"the ladies are certainly not playing second fiddle in slum
clearance and housing over here. Dr. Miller is an enthusiast,
and no two ways about it."

"It makes me wish," Laura sighed, "that our fine American
women could capture Dr. Miller's enthusiasm."

"Her visit to the States should help," I ventured. "When
we get back, maybe we can take up where she leaves off."

Laura, as usual, was thinking ahead as she said, "We have
no London Limehouse district, but in Philadelphia, where
the slum houses are called 'bandboxes,' conditions are just
as horrible. Maybe Dr. Miller can persuade American women
to study Octavia Hill and swing into action. Then there'd
be Ladies in Bandboxes as well as Ladies in Limehouse."

15

SLUM WALLS FALL
FOR FATHER JELLICOE

ON RECEIVING a message from Dr. Miller, Laura
and I set out for a slum district not far from the center of
London where one of the most practical and effective clear-
ances I had ever encountered was gradually taking place
under the capable direction of Miss Evelyn E. Perry, F.S.I.,
the Honourable Secretary of St. Pancras Housing.

This taut, nervous, smiling, little wisp of a woman met
us at her modest, immaculate office in the midst of the
development. At first I wondered if she came up to the
Octavia Hill standard for robust health, she seemed so frail.
But we soon saw that her frailty was that of the blooded
greyhound— she was literally in a race with the slums and
winning out.

The area around her office was in vivid contrast to the
beautiful homes of Regent Park nearby. Within a few yards
of those mansions were block after block of airless basements,
occupied by families whose children looked like "plants kept
in a cellar," as Miss Perry told us the Bishop of Winchester
had described them. The lack of sunshine and air in those
cellars, she said, caused rickets, chest and other diseases, per-
manently weakened hearts, and brought on much rheumatic
fever. Infant mortality, it was no surprise, was way above

161

162 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

the average for the city. Such conditions sounded to us like
Moscow.

In soliciting funds for their work, Miss Perry said they
brought the situation home to the upper classes by a strong
opening statement in their prospectus: "Except for an acci-
dent of birth, we would be appealing for you, instead of
to you."

"That's really a jolt to make us all think," I observed.

Laura was looking out a window. "By the way," she in-
quired, "do these people all come from this neighborhood?"

"Yes, indeed," Miss Perry replied. "It is our chief aim to
rehouse the people in the immediate vicinity as the slums
are demolished. The great advantage of our scheme is that
by building blocks of flats one at a time we dehouse no one.
When they are finished, we provide accommodations for the
tenants of homes required for demolition before we start
building on the site from which those tenants move into the
new houses. Thus we gradually rehouse all residents in a
slum area without disturbing the neighborhood pattern.
That includes the slum merchants for whom we build small
stores. So you see, one hundred per cent are put in new
buildings on the same site, with practically no housing
problem during construction because of the way we decant
them."

"That seems to me," I commented, "the most sensible
solution for the interim housing problem. My wife and I saw
it being done in Italy, though your method of decanting is
somewhat different here."

"Well, there is some resistance to it, especially by the large
Local Authorities who like to let one big, general contract
and get the building over. They claim decanting runs up
construction costs. But we have not found it too expensive,
and it keeps our neighborhoods intact. There is no scatter-

Slum Walls Fall for Father Jellicoe 163

ing of the poor people all over the city with many never com-
ing back, and others finding two moves a severe strain on
their slender pocketbooks. The wage earners also continue
their present jobs and are not put to the extra expense of
long tram fares."

Miss Perry was thoughtfully silent for a moment. "I was
thinking," she explained, "how incredible it is what just one
determined individual can do in clearing slums. Except for
Father Jellicoe, there would be no Saint Pancras Housing.
He died only last year, at the early age of thirty-six. He
actually burned himself out; but I know he felt it was worth
while."

"Please tell us about him," Laura urged.

"When Father Jellicoe came here as a missioner of the
Church of England," Miss Perry said, "he found the people
living like pigs. They weren't drunkards or criminals; they
were respectable working folk. Father Jellicoe learned that
they didn't live in their verminous, insanitary hovels by
choice, but because they had to live near their jobs and the
slums were all they could find.

"The good Father discovered something else, too— that
if anything was to be done about those slums, he would have
to do it himself. So first of all, he persuaded and bullied a
little money from people who could afford to give. Then he
bought two old houses to recondition. But the fixing up of
old houses had to be abandoned as the expense for the results
obtained was too great, and besides, it was simply impossible
to get rid of the vermin.

"Those first two houses, however, enabled Father Jellicoe
to get his foot in the door of slum clearance. Octavia Hill,
you may remember, also started in a very small way. She
was able to purchase but three houses. They were in such
foul shape that even the banisters had been burned for fire-

164 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

wood. When she spoke to the former owner about the large
amount of rents in arrears, he shrugged and explained that
he wasn't too fussy about collecting the rents because, being
an undertaker, he made his money from the deaths he got
out of the houses/'

"Just as Dickens wrote," Laura remarked with a shiver.

"Thankfully," Miss Perry went on, "it's not like that any
more. Neither of these great leaders started in a big way.
But their forthright action to get rid of a few slum houses
caused others to rally round them. It seems to me that all one
has to do is to roll up his or her sleeves and go to work on
just one little slum. Then the miracle happens. The slum
walls come tumbling down, and Providence helps out with
the rest.

"We have often found that Providence acts through the
Rotary Clubs. The one here has met in our Town Hall with
the Mayor, Councilor Hewson, the Rotary President, Mr.
Arthur Mortimer, and many others to help with our work.
The Rotary Club of Southampton also co-operates there with
the Swaythling Housing Society, which is like ours. Sir Edwin
Bonham Carter was the speaker at a recent Rotary meeting
devoted exclusively to Housing Society work. The same keen
interest in the work of Public Utility Housing Societies is
found in the Rotary Clubs of many other cities, too. But
here," Miss Perry added, "I fear I've talked too much. Let's
get a bit of air and see the flats, shall we?"

First we visited a slum block that was being demolished.
About half of the houses had already been wrecked, and the
new construction was well along. Each old, three-story brick
house, cheek by jowl with its neighbor, had a disgustingly
filthy basement and a littered rear area with a catchall shed.
In one back yard a group of children gathered as soon as the
news that someone was taking movies got around. The

Slum Walls Fall for Father Jellicoe 165

youngsters were jolly enough, but their untidiness made
Laura feel like giving them a good scrubbing. The mothers
clustered around, hunched in tattered shawls, as my camera
took in the scene.

We escaped from our intent audience through a gate in
a board fence. Climbing five outside flights of stairs by way
of open balconies serving each flat, we reached the roof of
a new building and forgot our breathlessness in amazement
at what we saw. The roof was paved with colored ceramic
tiles and completely enclosed by a parapet wall with two feet
of transparent plate glass above it. There was a wading pool,
play slides, and a sand pile. The play area adjoined a well-
windowed room that was the day nursery. In a niche of its
exterior wall was a terra-cotta statue of a child, head thrown
back and a smile on its face as it overlooked the fountain
cascading down before it.

"I didn't tell you about this," Miss Perry confessed with
a laugh, "because I wanted it to be a surprise. Isn't it grand?'*

"You're the world's best slum-clearance promoter," Laura
declared. "A few minutes ago we were with those pitiful
children in their terrible back yards. Now we are in a para-
dise for their former playmates. It's like a fairy tale, and I'm
sure it must be to these happy youngsters."

I stepped to the edge of the roof. Immediately below me
was the old slum. There were the kids in the dirty junk-
strewn back yards. Across the wooden fence was more new
housing. Its play yard, bordered by the flowers of the first-
floor windows, was alive with swinging, shouting older chil-
dren. In the U-shaped court of our building was an orna-
mental drying yard for laundry. The clothes poles formed a
circle and on top of each one was a metal elf. The clothes
lines extended, from a regular Maypole in the center, like

166 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

the spokes of a wheel to the gaily topped poles that formed
the perimeter.

There are no Blue Mondays here, I thought as I returned
to Miss Perry and Laura.

A quick investigation disclosed at least nine more Housing
Societies in the London area, similar to St. Pancras, though
most of them were larger. In addition, there were at least
five great housing trusts, set up through the bequests of
philanthropists. One of them, I learned, had been founded
in 1837 ^7 George Peabody, an American businessman.
Altogether, these trusts provided over 14,000 homes at low
rents.

All this, mind you, was just in London. The inevitable
comparison with the little that had been done by our own
philanthropists to house the needy in America brought home
to us how far behind we were.

A note had come from John Wrigley, asking us for tea
on Sunday, July 12. We accepted with alacrity, knowing it
would be a real treat to visit the man who, in 1934, had been
drafting the Overcrowding Law, which was now in force.

We had some trouble finding the Wrigley home in the
suburbs of London. It finally turned up on a country lane
at the brow of a hill from which the meadows of rural Eng-
land fell away in fold after fold of lush green. We had our
tea, and something stouter, on the rear terrace. Then Wrigley
settled back in his lawn chair and, with a twinkle in his
spectacled, blue-gray eyes, began the story he knew we had
come to hear.

"The Overcrowding Law was introduced to Parliament,"
he said, "shortly after we had our talks about it, Mr. Palmer.
Its passage developed a strange paradox. Immediately the
Local Authorities from all over the place protested that the

Slum Walls Fall for Father Jellicoe 167

standards were too low. We had felt it was quite daring just
to make any overcrowding illegal. For example, where it
was usual that a large kitchen served for living purposes, too,
we counted it as a room where people could also sleep; but
a small kitchen not usually used for living purposes was
ruled out. This made a big difference in the degree of over-
crowding shown by the local surveys.

"The Leeds City Council, however, gauged their needs by
a private bedroom for parents, and enough additional sleep-
ing rooms so that the remaining occupants of the house—
those of opposite sexes and not married but ten years old or
more—did not sleep in the same room. That, you see, elimi-
nates a kitchen, living room, or parlor for sleeping purposes.
So if we took the Leeds rule for the nine million houses of
England and Wales, we could find something like eight hun-
dred and fifty thousand instead of just three hundred and
fifty thousand who by our standards were violating the law."

"Do you," I asked, "intend to amend it with a more exact-
ing standard?"

"Heavens no! We will have trouble enough as it is to en-
force the Overcrowding Law as it stands now. That we needed
the law at all," Wrigley pensively continued, "really forces
an embarrassing admission about my country, for it re-
emphasized that the wages paid by business and industry-
yes, by government, as well— are too low for poorer workers
to afford adequate housing without state aid.

"Someday you in America will probably face up to the
same facts. Maybe not until your next great depression.
When that time comes and you want to make jobs and also
produce something worth while instead of putting people
on the dole, you may decide to take a leaf from our book by
passing your own Overcrowding Law. That forces construe-

165 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

tion of housing and solves the unemployment problem as
well."

"Perhaps it would be better," I said reflectively, "if we
didn't wait for another depression."

As we drove to London, there flashed back in memory
that Roosevelt in 1930, while governor of New York, had
vetoed legislation that would have permitted more than one
family to occupy a single apartment of a tenement house.

Here was Roosevelt, as governor of New York, enforcing
a law against overcrowding two years before the British had
undertaken to prepare legislation for the same purpose.
There was no further uncertainty in my mind about Roose-
velt's comprehensive understanding of the slum problem.
Why, I had not even mentioned to Hopkins legislation to
prohibit overcrowding, thinking it too advanced to be dis-
cussed until later.

Next on our schedule was a visit to Becontree, the mam-
moth housing development of the London County Council,
which provided homes for more than 125,000 people. En
route from London, we had driven through the crawling
slums of Limehouse, not quite as bad as in Dickens's time,
thanks to Becontree, which had absorbed many families
from that squalid district.

Captain Amies, the manager, unfolded his six-feet-four
and momentarily removed his pipe as his face broke into an
expansive smile.

"So you are from the States and interested in housing,
eh?" he drawled. "Well, we have plenty of it here. So much
you'd get browned off if you tried to see the whole estate.
My suggestion is that we have a spot of coffee and do some
talking before we leave the office."

Slum Walls Fall for Father Jellicoe 169

In came the coffee for the "elevenses" of the day, and we
settled back in comfort to hear leisurely Captain Amies.

"Let's take the figures first," he suggested. "There are
26,000 houses, 130,000 population, 27 churches, 30 schools,
400 shops, 2 1 rent offices, 500 acres of parks and open spaces-
total cost about 13,000,000 pounds."

I was duly impressed by these astronomical figures, which
added up to the biggest project of its kind in the world.

"We are only eleven miles from the center of London,"
Captain Amies continued, "about a half-hour by train. We're
a working-class town. In some ways that hurts. We've tried
to get private enterprise to build for upper middle-class
people, but they won't because of the bad approach through
the industrial, dock, and slum districts of London's East
End. In another way, it helps to be a workers' town since
factories follow the labor pool. There were practically no
industries in this area when we came. Now there are the
Ford and Briggs auto-body plants at nearby Dagenham, and
many other factories, all because they can get labor right
here. A lot of folks used to be clerks in London, but the
weekly fare to the city is about eight shillings— a big item in
the family budget— so many of them have switched to jobs
in this neighborhood."

"Transportation for the worker," I interjected, "is a com-
mon problem everywhere."

"And a most difficult one. I say"— Captain Amies glanced
at the clock— "if we want to get on with the job of seeing
the estate, we had best start right now."

When we reached the residential area, Laura remarked
about the well-clipped hedges that lined all the streets, and
asked if the tenants maintained them.

"We look after the sixty miles along the street, but the
householders take care of the additional two hundred and

170 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

twenty miles of hedges that separate the rear gardens,"
grunted Captain Amies as he mopped his brow. "Now sup-
pose we stop at a house whose garden won first prize in the
area."

All was immaculate, and the aproned wife made us feel at
home. The rear yard was a profusion of blooming shrubs,
flowers, and well-tended grass. But so were the yards of all
the neighbors.

"You're noticing our architecture," the Captain observed,
as we drove past rows of two-story houses relieved by attrac-
tive, low-roofed, individual homes. "We have variety, and
those roof tiles lend a spot of color."

No residential building was more than two stories high.
The entire estate was dotted with numberless small green
plots and playing fields. There was much to see, but we could
do little more than sample the tremendous development.

We drove back to London through the vast expanse of
slums that still remained. The violent contrast between them
and Becontree was a silent but vigorous plea for public
housing.

We had planned to drive to Scotland on Wednesday but
postponed the trip to attend the dedication of Brightwells,
a scheme of the Fulham Housing Improvement Society,
on July 16. Mr. W. R. Davidge, a prominent architect and
town planner of London, said that the little development
was quite out of the ordinary.

He was right. Not only did we find new features in the
buildings, which had been designed by a woman architect,
but the importance given the occasion again emphasized the
influential backing in England of housing for the poor.

In the center of the roomy forecourt of the thirty new
flats was a platform for the ceremony. There sat the Lord

Slum Walls Fall for Father Jellicoe 171

Mayor, wearing the great gold chain with the seal of his
office around his neck, and beside him the Lady Mayoress.
Accompanying them was the mace-bearer with the mace.
H.R.H. Princess Alice, Countess of Athlone, was the ranking
guest, although the Bishop of London and other higher-ups,
including some great financial and industrial leaders, were
on the platform, too.

When she formally declared the buildings open, Her Royal
Highness seemed to speak from considerable personal expe-
rience with housing. She said that she thought all social
work should start from housing "and proceed upward" from
that point. It was so obvious, in her opinion, that it was
better to have healthy citizens, which was impossible in slums,
than to maintain hospitals needed because of disease that
came from overcrowded and unwholesome houses. So evident
was this that she wondered why it had taken the people "so
long to realize this transparent truth."

It turned out that Miss Perry, of St. Pancras, had helped
organize the Fulham Society and a Miss Landsdown was the
manageress. Since the buildings were designed by a woman
and managed by a woman, I found many new and practical
ideas had been included. This all-woman project seemed to
be off to a good start.

Miss Perry introduced us to Lady Marjorie Pentland, who
had given the St. Pancras Society money for a complete
block of flats that we had seen nearing completion. Inci-
dentally, Pentland House, the name of the block, was de-
signed with one unfinished wall to be ready for an additional
wing when more money became available.

Lady Pentland mentioned that her mother was Lady
Aberdeen, who had been instrumental in founding the
Canadian Housing Centre in Toronto. It was "like mother
like daughter" in this case, for Lady Pentland was extremely

172 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

active in the work of the Housing Centre of London. The
principal object of this nonpartisan, nonpolitical organiza-
tion was stated as "to constitute a common meeting ground
for organizations and individuals engaged in housing."

That this main objective was being achieved was daily
demonstrated through the close liaison between officials of
the various housing associations whose headquarters were in
the Housing Centre. Among them were The National Fed-
eration of Housing Societies, the Society of Women Housing
Managers, the Women's Advisory Housing Council, the Gar-
den Cities and Town Planning Association, and others.

The public was kept informed of new laws and develop-
ments through traveling exhibits, films, lectures, and litera-
ture. Although the Centre was only two years old, its monthly
bulletin reached members throughout Great Britain and in
New Zealand, Australia, Canada, and the United States. The
staff was then busy organizing the "New Homes for Old"
exhibition, which would be shown at Olympia in September
under the patronage of King Edward VIII. It would then
tour the schools.

This three-ring housing circus was efficiently conducted
by Professor Patrick Abercrombie, noted British architect
and town planner, as chairman, assisted by a corps of capable
women such as Mrs. Madge Waller in charge of publicity,
Miss M. C. Solomon, librarian, and Miss J. G. Ledebrer,
handling the exhibits. Laura and I were much impressed by
the ceremony and by the distinguished people who partici-
pated in it so enthusiastically.

16

HUNDRED
NEW TOWNS

THE NEW YORK architect, Henry Wright, who had
accompanied the British housing experts to Atlanta, sug-
gested it would be worth while to see Sir Theodore Chambers,
chairman of the Board of Welwyn Garden City, a new town
built from scratch by private enterprise about twenty miles
from London.

When we visited him, Sir Theodore said the estate included
both upper- and working-class housing for a population of
some 12,000 people. Rent was kept as low as possible on the
workers' houses, with nothing being charged for the land,
and about 4 per cent on the buildings. Sir Theodore ex-
plained that most of the money was made from the middle-
and higher-income groups, the shops and the factories.

"I believe," Sir Theodore.said earnestly, "that if the Ford
enterprises would undertake to build a city for, say, two
hundred and fifty thousand people, they would be doing the
world a great service. Egyptians, Romans, and the Greeks
built great cities from nothing; but no one in this civilization
is doing such a job. It should be undertaken by those of great
wealth in the United States. If they did so, they would find
the result to be a tremendous financial success, as well as a
great human service."

173

174 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

Laura and I visited Welwyn the next day and found that
it lived up to our expectations in every respect. A modern
town, it was operated like any well-run profit-making busi-
ness. John F. Eccles, the manager, drove us around.

"Why so much vacant land," I inquired, "in the center of
your city? With ten thousand people, I'd think your down-
town area would have more shops, or at least not so many
unimproved commercial sites."

"The reason is because we haven't grown up yet," Eccles
explained. "We plan for a population of forty to fifty thou-
sand. If we built and tenanted shops for that many in the
center, while we have only ten thousand residents, the mer-
chants and we would fail as we waited for those additional
thousands of buyers. And yet we must reserve enough land
downtown to be able to expand the shopping area when our
city reaches its maximum growth. Meanwhile, we do most of
the business through neighborhood stores. I'll show you what
I mean. Did you happen to notice that long, low building
across the square from our offices? Well, that's the main
branch of Welwyn Stores. Now, see this little building on
that corner at your left?"

I turned and saw an attractive, low-gabled shop with one or
two other neighborhood stores adjoining it.

"That's a branch of the general store downtown," Eccles
said. "It serves this particular area and sells food, clothing,
coals, shoes, and about everything else. Because the entire
system is owned by us, the townspeople got the impression
they were being done in by a monopoly. One of their chief
grouses was lack of variety. So they began to shop away from
Welwyn.

"We solved that problem by building a limited parade of
shops downtown and in each quadrant of the city, and putting
in one shop each for the greengrocer, the chemist [drugstore],

Hundred New Towns 175

the ironmonger [hardware store], and such. The result is
that our local residents are once more shopping in Welwyn
and feel that they are getting a square deal. Of course, it's
mostly psychological because we did not materially change
our merchandising or pricing policy. For a time the new
shops cut down the business of the general store, but only
temporarily. In fact, the competition from the new shops has
really been only with the stores outside the city.

"In waiting to establish these separate businesses in
Welwyn until our population had grown sufficiently to assure
enough purchasing power so that the new merchant could
succeed, we were able to secure much higher rentals than if
we had permitted these storekeepers to come in before there
was a demand for their merchandise. Also, giving them ex-
clusive rights for a limited time has protected them against
cutthroat competition/'

Eccles overwhelmed us with printed material upon our
return to his office and promised to send us more data and
pictures later on.

While visiting Atlanta in 1934, Sir Raymond Unwin had
urged that I see Letchworth, the first garden city— Welwyn
was the second. Now the opportunity had come, and Sir
Raymond arranged a meeting with Barry Parker.

The records showed that Barry Parker, F.R.I.B.A.,
P.P.T.P.L, and his brother-in-law, Sir Raymond Unwin,
F.R.I.B.A., P.P.R.I.B.A.-to give them all the letters they had
so well earned— had been commissioned as the two outstand-
ing planners to make the dream of Ebenezer Howard come
true. That was way back in 1903. The site selected was 4,500
acres, 34 miles from London.

Arriving at Mr. Parker's home on Saturday, July 11, our
host and his gracious wife greeted us in their homey living

176 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

room, where "elevenses" coffee promptly appeared, although
it wasn't yet ten o'clock.

In his late sixties, Barry Parker was an older edition of
Becontree's Captain Amies. Both were tall and slow moving,
but there the resemblance ended. Amies slicked back his hair,
and Parker's tumbled down his neck like Lloyd George's.
Amies was smooth-shaven, while Parker's walrus mustache
out-Britished the best in England.

"Before I tell you about Letchworth," he said over his
coffee cup, "I'd like to inquire about what you are doing in
America. Unwin has told me that you are getting on with
the job of clearing slums. I believe he mentioned one place
where demolition is well over and some construction started.
Let me see. Someplace in Georgia— Atlantis, was it?"

"Yes," I replied. "Atlanta is where the first slum-clearance
project ever tackled by our government is now about com-
pleted. We wrecked most of the slums on the site in 1934
and-"

Here the lovely Mrs. Parker hitched to the edge of the
overstuffed davenport and leaned toward me.

"Oh, Mr. Palmer!" she burst out. "Do you mean that you
just 'wrecked' those buildings? You literally tore them to the
ground? And just a moment ago you spoke about 'tackling'
a job. I presume that involves diving at it and grappling it
with all your might. You Americans are so forthright. You
use so few words to say what you mean. I wish my husband's
architect friends were more like that. They take so long to
say what they have in mind. The speeches during their Insti-
tute sessions just never seem to end."

"There, there, my dear." Parker's slow-starting, booming
laugh soon filled the room. "Ahem, fact is, I'm among the
chief offenders on that score. Haw! Haw!"

When the spate of laughter, in which Laura and I joined,

Hundred New Towns 177

had ended, I asked our genial host about the siting of
industry.

"All nuisance factories, that is, those that emit smoke or
produce odors," he explained, "are placed so that the pre-
vailing breezes will blow the smoke and odors away from the
city."

"And why," I inquired, "hasn't Letchworth reorganized
into a straight profit-making enterprise as Welwyn has?"

Mr. Parker fingered his mustache while looking me straight
in the eye.

"That is a good question," he said, "and I'm glad you
asked it. Both Letchworth and Welwyn were started with the
same purpose in mind: to make better communities; to give
people better living— not to make more money. That's why
each town limited its dividends. We in Letchworth still do,
and here is why.

"It goes back to Ebenezer Howard. He felt that the un-
earned increment that accrues to land through population
increase should not go to the landowners. Instead, Howard
believed that all residents of the community should benefit.
After all, the people are the ones who brought about the rise
in land values of the city by being there. Howard main-
tained, therefore, that the people should profit accordingly.
We still subscribe to that principle and retain title to all
land, letting it out on long-term leases. When those leases
fall in, or expire, as I believe you would say in the States, the
increase on reletting will be captured for the people."

I kept plying Mr. Parker with questions, and Laura put
in an occasional query from the woman's viewpoint. All too
soon we reluctantly left the delightful Parkers.

We were fast finding that there was much to be said for
garden cities, whether they followed the original precepts of
Ebenezer Howard, as carried on at Letchworth by Barry

178 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

Parker, or were instigated by the profit motive, as at Welwyn
under Sir Theodore Chambers.

Since Ebenezer Howard's conception of the garden city
more than a generation before, and the successful creation
of Letchworth and Welwyn, the new town idea had gained
many supporters. Chief among the more imaginative was A.
Trystan Edwards, who envisaged the movement as a solu-
tion for most British ills. We met for tea and talk in his
quarters at 3 Gray's Inn Square one afternoon.

An architect by profession, Edwards's enthusiasm burst all
bounds. Ancient Gray's Inn Square was an appropriate setting
for his dress but not for his modern ideas. This bald, chunky
little man in patched tweeds hesitantly welcomed me to his
apartment with old-world grace. At first I attributed his
apparent timidity to some sort of embarrassment, but I soon
realized that it was occasioned by a marked impediment in
his speech. What in most people would have been a handicap,
in Edwards became an asset. Had his tongue not tripped at
times, I never could have kept up with the torrent of
schemes he fired at me.

"The bounders think they have defeated my Hundred New
Towns for Britain!" he erupted. "The sound-money men are
all against me, Lloyd George understood the idea and might
have led the way, but Neville Chamberlain and others of
that ilk blocked him."

Edwards had so much to tell, and apparently had gone so
long without a listener, that the words kept sticking on his
tongue. To get them off required strict attention to the job
at hand, and his tea grew cold.

The story came out bit by bit and developed into one of
almost fanatical concentration on a single idea. His experi-
ences paralleled those in Little Dorrit. To Edwards, all of

Hundred New Towns 179

Britain— not just Whitehall as in Dickens's time— must have
seemed a vast "Circumlocution Department."

Edwards's plan was amazing in its concept— to build, within
ten years, at strategic locations throughout England, Scot-
land, and Wales, 100 new towns of 50,000 population each,
totaling all together some 5,000,000 inhabitants.

Edwards maintained that an all-out attack was the only
way to do the job. He said it was nothing more than a coloni-
zation problem and pointed out that the British were great
colonizers.

Rehousing in the existing, overcrowded towns involved
high land costs and grave decanting problems. By building
new towns on cheap land before old slums were demolished,
these problems would be solved in an orderly and economical
manner. Furthermore, the old towns would benefit by the
welcome breathing space resulting from slum clearance.

Out came a book Edwards had published at his own ex-
pense. The list of those who sponsored the project as "worthy
of the fullest investigation and discussion" included distin-
guished leaders from all fields. With these sponsors as the
spearhead, Edwards met the political aspects of his scheme
head on. His plea was to view the plan in the same perspec-
tive that the nation had viewed the war.

The objective was housing and jobs for all. The job oppor-
tunity was realistically analyzed. First it was pointed out that
85 per cent of the money spent in construction and fabrica-
tion of materials went to wages. With this income, farm
products, clothing, and a host of other items, could be pur-
chased, thus catalyzing the entire economy. The conclusion
was drawn that if the then existing, unplanned industrial ex-
pansion was channeled into the new towns, employment
opportunities would be provided for 750,000 workers in 10
years in the 100 new towns.

180 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

With a broad brush, finances were next put on the gigantic
canvas. The million houses were estimated to cost from two
to two and a half billion dollars, and the factories, stores,
utilities, and land a like amount. Spread over ten years, the
five billion dollars would make the cost five hundred million
dollars a year to see the job through.

These astronomical figures gave me a jolt, but they didn't
seem to faze Edwards. How did this half-billion a year com-
pare with present national expenditures? Why, the British
government was already paying out 50 per cent more than
that—three-quarters of a billion dollars— every year for un-
employment and poor relief alonel

"Just fancy," Edwards vehemently declared, "all the savings
on that item that would come about through the jobs the
hundred towns could provide!"

Sweat was now rolling down my host's bald brow. The
words still did not come fast enough for him. Snatching up
his book, he pointed to certain pages. Still it was no go.
Finally it dawned on him that I could not catch up with his
thinking of years by scanning his book for a few minutes.
So he handed me a copy to study at my leisure. Then he
quickly retrieved the volume to inscribe and date it with a
flourish.

This seemed to relax him somewhat. His head of steam
subsided a little. But it was only for a moment. There were
too many words in him for any human to contain, and out
they came once more.

Again it was the financing. Relatively large, yes! But be-
yond Britain's capacity? No! In fact, the job could be made
to finance itself without loans! Edwards obviously enjoyed
the amazement on my face which that startling statement
produced. Was I open-minded enough to listen to the un-
orthodox?

Hundred New Towns 181

My host settled back in his chair, slightly more composed.
The fascinating story he told concerned a financial technique
employed by the Isle of Guernsey to build a "parade of
shops" well over a century ago.

In 1820 the little island's exchequer was in such desperate
straits that it could neither borrow nor raise through taxa-
tion the 5,500 pounds required to construct a much-needed
market building. In this quandary, and having the power to
issue its own currency, it printed one-pound notes to the
amount needed, to be retired from the market rents.

The rent totaled 600 pounds a year. As it was collected,
government officials annually burned it up. Thus the entire
issue was retired in less than ten years. No interest had been
paid. No sinking fund was necessary. Also, there had been
no runaway inflation. That was because the currency was
anchored to a real-estate base instead of a gold base. Gold
of itself earned nothing, but real estate did. Therefore, no
loan was needed and the "parade of shops" financed them-
selves.

So happy were the islanders that they used the same de-
vice to build new wharves for shipping, and for other self-
liquidating projects. All went so well that prosperity returned
to the Isle of Guernsey. For a period of twenty years the
local parliament successfully met its financial problems in
this way.

Then, Edwards related, the international bankers stepped
into the picture. Those financiers who had turned down the
original request for a loan to erect the market building at
last woke up to the fact that the islanders were somehow
getting along very well without them. And what was worse,
the bankers hadn't gotten any interest payments from this
tight little island!

Well, well— the money-changers on Threadneedle Street

182 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

in the great City of London finally decided— something must
be done about this sad and profitless state of affairs. So the
bankers craftily persuaded the Privy Council to withdraw
the power to issue currency from the parliament of the Isle
of Guernsey.

Not, however, until the islanders' financial technique had
demonstrated its practicability. They still had their market
building and their wharves, all obtained without having
paid a penny of interest. Industry had been stimulated, the
exchange of goods and services was accelerated, and unem-
ployment had disappeared.

Enthusiastic as Edwards was over the ingenious economics
of his proposal, he was even more excited about the design.
His basic plan envisaged a circular town with wedge-shaped
land-use zones. The points of these segments converged on a
civic center in the heart of the town. Radial roads ran to the
periphery like the spokes of a wheel. Thus residential areas
adjoined industrial areas, separated by adequate screening,
and within walking distance from home to work.

When it came to the design of the individual blocks for
residential use, Edwards reached the heights of his vivid
imagination. While twelve houses per acre was generally
accepted as maximum land coverage, Edwards stepped it up
to forty per acre by building row housing around hollow
quadrangles to be used for recreation.

But if all or part of the quadrangle was to be used for
recreation, where, I wanted to know, would clothes be dried?
And how could mothers tend children too young for group
play?

Edwards snatched the One Hundred Towns for Britain
book from the table. Again, speech was too slow for him and
he pointed to one of the many colored plates. There were
the third stories of his houses. The flat roofs were designed

Hundred New Towns 183

as ideal laundry and play yards, even to sandboxes, tubs, and
clotheslines. Solid walls, each with its flowered trellis, run-
ning at right angles to the street and across the rear toward
the interior quadrangle, gave each family complete privacy.
The front was protected by an ornamental parapet, low
enough to let in the sun but high enough to pen in the
children. That section away from the street was partially
roofed over to shelter the laundry tubs and the stairs down
to the second floor. Edwards was truly the friend of the
mother.

When I inquired how he had happened on such a design,
he told of talks with "gentlemen of the slums" and their
wives. It was, he said, no good to plan for them but without
them. They knew best what they wanted and needed. No
multistoried barracks from which the tired housewife was
too worn out at the end of a day of drudgery to walk down
and up four flights of stairs to give her baby the air even
when the sun shone. No cottages at twelve to the acre and
far from work, "set out like cabbages," where gregarious,
friendly living hadn't a chance.

I had heard an amazing story from the stumbling lips of
an amazing man. Exhausted though he was from fighting for
his plan, impoverished from trying to promote it, he still
stoutly maintained that it would yet prevail.

The one-pound note I passed to him for associate mem-
bership in his group seemed most welcome.

17

SITTING BATHS
AND SCOTSMEN

NEXT LAURA and I drove 1,200 miles through
England and Scotland, studying housing. Our old friend,
John Martin, secretary of the National Housing and Town
Planning Council, had written of our coming to officials in
Manchester, Leeds, Liverpool, Glasgow, and Edinburgh.

The amount of slum clearance in the midlands went
London one better. The visit to Leeds brought out much that
was new to us, possibly because of our dynamic host, the
Reverend Charles Jenkinson of St. Barnabas Vicarage. With
raincoat flapping from his tall, angular frame and slouch hat
pulled over his eyes, he looked and acted little like a vicar
and, as it turned out, knew as much about construction as a
contractor.

Jenkinson, we learned, was so much in favor of women
housing workers that there was a requirement for women to
constitute at least 25 per cent of the staff, and at the same
pay as men.

Dr. Jenkinson was a strong supporter of differential rent-
ing, although, as he put it, "Some people are liars and cheats,
and the only way to satisfy everybody and be fair to honest
people is to check wages when determining rents."

As we drove from Jenkinson's office to the Quarry Hill

184

Sitting Baths and Scotsmen 185

clearance, our mentor expounded some general conclusions
he had reached.

"Housing must be provided," he stated firmly, "for all who
need it, and it must be the kind each needs. Old as well as
young are to be considered. Dwellings for the aged, that is,
for couples past the childbearing stage, have never been pro-
vided in adequate quantity. We find that they fill a great
void."

We reached a twenty-six-acre site in the heart of Leeds.
Where hundreds of slum hovels once crowded, not one re-
mained. Dr. Jenkinson told us of his special trip to France
to look into the kind of construction we saw being used,
known as the Mopin System. Jenkinson had also brought
from France the Garchey System of refuse disposal. In place
of garbage cans and incinerators, kitchens were equipped with
refuse chutes incorporated into each sink. Both the dry and
wet waste were drawn by suction to a central point and put
through hydroextractors. The dry residue was then auto-
matically conveyed to furnaces and burned. The heat gen-
erated was used to supply the communal laundry with hot
water.

Soon we were off to the Gipton Housing Estate.

"Most of the families," Dr. Jenkinson explained, "need
more furniture. The dealers who sold them on credit charged
extortionist prices at usorious rates of interest. I presume
they do the same in the States. To stop this exploitation, we
devised a hire-purchase system. Payments are made weekly
and spread out for more than two years. Over seventy per
cent of the families now being rehoused used the service."

As we entered the great Gipton Housing Estate, we found
that open spaces predominated throughout the 360 acres. The
2,800 flats and cottages alternated, with here and there the
housing for the aged sprinkled in beside the children's play-

186 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

grounds. Dr. Jenkinson was proud of such well-planned siting.
It gave the oldsters a chance to keep their eyes on the young-
sters; and it afforded the youngsters an opportunity to
brighten up the oldsters' spirits with their cheery shouts while
at their games.

"Oh, my, oh, my!" Dr. Jenkinson suddenly exclaimed as
he leaned forward and touched the driver. "We were planning
to show our American friends the sitting baths and the back-
to-back stoves. Just stop at any of these cottages for the aging."

As we stepped from the car, a cottage door opened, and an
elderly housewife came out to greet us. If there was to be
any visiting, she wanted her flat to be the one chosen. In the
living room was what appeared to be a normal fireplace. At
the grate a tea kettle simmered.

"Looks to be an ordinary grate, doesn't it?" Dr. Jenkinson
observed. "But that tiny flame under the teakettle here in
the living room does the cooking in the scullery and heats
the hot water, too. And we haven't shown you the best part.
Let's go to the scullery."

There we found that this Rube Goldberg device had been
built into the wall between the two rooms. In lieu of the
grate in the living room, the kitchen side had a cooking
range. The hot water for household use came from a boiler
in the chimney. Aside from the low initial cost there were
savings in space and economy of operation.

Our enthusiastic guide next took us to the bath where
there was a "sitting tub," also a great space saver. It had as
many Rube Goldberg contraptions as the back-to-back grates.
The tub was only about two by three feet but deep enough
so that the bather could submerge to the chest as the lower
part was shaped like a chair. For ease of access, the entire
fixture was countersunk in the floor when used primarily for
bathing. But when installed in the kitchen, it was not counter-

Sitting Baths and Scotsmen 187

sunk and became a wash-basin-laundry-tub-draining-board-
clothes-ringer table and bath all in one. The hospitable lady
of the house was loud in praise of her back-to-back stove and
sitting bath. Laura and I began to understand how the British
managed to keep costs down and use space so efficiently.

As we drove back to Leeds, Dr. Jenkinson summed up
briefly.

"With the incomes of so many of the people too low to
pay rent that is remunerative to private-venture builders,
more and more must be done by the state. Much of the high
cost is by way of interest on borrowed money. The answer
may come from grappling with our present restrictive mone-
tary system."

As we parted I wondered to myself if Dr. Jenkinson had
ever heard of Trystan Edwards.

Upon our arrival in Edinburgh, Mr. Ross at the Housing
Authority said, "Building- trade workers go at housing last,
and leave it first when other jobs are to be had because they
earn more for the time being through overtime. We have
considered countering by guaranteeing fifty-one weeks of
work a year. No such scheme is yet in effect, but something
of the sort may be necessary eventually. The annual wage will
lower building costs and still afford the worker greater annual
income through more constant employment, although the
wage per unit produced may be less."

Our discussion then wandered to land and management
problems. I voiced a tentative opinion that there seemed
much to be said for the differential-renting policy used at
Leeds, and Mr. Ross agreed.

"However," he observed, "it is not easy to change from
flat rents to differential rents. We found that out up in Aber-
deen, where we had rent strikes when the Local Authorities

188 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

raised the rent of those whose incomes justified a higher
figure. The Scotsman just will not put out more than his
neighbor for the same accommodation. Besides, both tenants
and politicians resented the attempt to get correct informa-
tion on incomes."

In Liverpool, tall, intense Mr. L. H. Keay, O.B.E.,
F.R.I. B.A., and director of Housing, was ready to see that we
had a fruitful visit. First he emphasized that he was a civil
servant and the need for such status.

"Consequently," he continued, "I am comparatively free of
local political pressure. How else could I have installed and
maintained differential renting with its means test as a requi-
site, when the local Labour Party is violently against the
means test and the local Conservative Party fears it? And how
could I have employed so many women when local coun-
cillors would rather have men who are their own political
pawns. A woman can fool a man, but she cannot fool another
woman. As most of our contact in housing management has
to do with the housewife, I prefer to have a woman, instead
of a man, handle the housewife for me."

The Beau Street area, to which we were taken, was to
Liverpool what the Quarry Hill section was to Leeds. This
project involved the rebulding of sixty-one acres of slums in
the heart of Liverpool. The job would take four years and
continuously employ five hundred building-trade workers.
Families already living on the site were being decanted tem-
porarily to the outskirts of Liverpool. They were placed in
suburban public housing already built and would go back
to their former neighborhood as soon as their section was
completed, much as had been done in Italy.

The next morning, Mr. J. K. Costain, of the famous build-
ing firm that bore his name, came in from nearby Birkenhead

Sitting Baths and Scotsmen 189

to breakfast with us at the Adelphia Hotel. During the lei-
surely meal, the Lord Bishop of the neighboring Isle of Man
stopped by for a word with his friend, Mr. Costain, and then
spoke to us.

"Coming from the States," he said in a courteous, easy
manner, "you may scarcely believe that when I was vicar of
a Liverpool slum with about eight thousand parishioners, I
discovered in my visits to their homes that more than twenty-
five hundred were crowded into hovels below the level of the
street." The Bishop shuddered and raised his hands in horror.
"You, of course, Mr. Palmer, have nothing like that in your
own country."

"Were there windows/' I asked, "in those cellar rooms, my
Lord Bishop?"

"Oh, yes," he assured me. "But they were small and just
above the level of the ground so, while there was some ven-
tilation, there was rarely any sunlight. And conditions inside
were indescribable. Thank God we have now cleared that
slum and rehoused its people. Your modern, bustling country
would never have stood for such an awful place."

"But they did have windows," I pointed out. "In New
York City, however, I am ashamed to confess, there are over
two hundred thousand occupied rooms which have no win-
dows at all!"

"That cannot be; it cannot be!" the Lord Bishop protested.
"How did such a sorry situation ever come about?"

I then described the narrow, five-story structures of New
York, a hundred feet deep, side by side, tier upon tier, with
eight rooms in a row on each floor like a train of cars; hence
the term "railroad" tenements. Only the room in front and
the one in the rear had windows. The other six had none
at all. In 1888 a law was passed requiring a four-feet, eight-
inch light shaft. These "light" shafts were often five stories*

190 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

high. Naples had nothing on New York when it came to a
glimpse of the sun only at noon. Tens of thousands of win-
dowless rooms and light-shaft rooms were still occupied in
New York.

Those who knew them best were those who lived there.
Some were unemployed artists. WPA furnished them mate-
rials to paint with while on relief, just as WPA furnished
other unemployed with the tools of their trade or profession.

There were two well-remembered pictures in the Housing
Division at Washington loaned by WPA and done by an
artist who lived in the slums. Both were of drab colors. No
other colors would do.

One showed a pinched-faced mother, tattered shawl around
her shoulders, wizened baby in her arms, calling down the
Stygian "light" shaft from her only window, "Janitor, please
tell me is the sun shining? I want to know whether to take
my baby out." The other pictured an emaciated little girl
peering over the window sill at a ragged boy below her in the
"light" shaft. Her finger pointed at a can on the sill in which
a scraggy plant was momentarily caught in a pencil of light.
She was saying, "I know there is a God, because sometimes
He sends the sunshine to my flower."

Over in nearby Bebington that afternoon, we met Miss
Alice Samuels, who had added so much to the discussions in
Atlanta with the British housing experts two years before.
We switched from our Ford to her little Austin. Laura eased
into the back seat while I crowded into the far corner of what
remained of the two front seats after Miss Samuels had ad-
justed herself under the wheel and spread out in ample
proportions. Our juxtaposition was too intimate to be
ignored, and I ventured a wisecrack.

Sitting Baths and Scotsmen 191

"I'm told, Miss Samuels, that it's best for a woman to drive
when it comes to these small Austins."

"Why is that?" she innocently inquired.

"Because with a man at the wheel," I solemnly replied,
"his woman companion is forced to slap his face every time
he shifts gears. That is, if she's a lady."

Miss Samuels roared delightedly, and we were off to a
merry afternoon, ending with tea at her little home with her
aged mother.

All Miss Samuels had told us in Atlanta turned out to be
true as we toured the projects. Her woman managers im-
pressed us with their obvious efficiency. The greatest problem
then facing them was preparation for enforcement of the
Overcrowding Law, which emphasized that a tenant who
causes overcrowding and a landlord who permits it were both
guilty. Miss Samuels and her assistants felt that a pretty
kettle of fish had been dumped into their laps. But they all
agreed the Overcrowding Law was a necessity, and felt they
could muddle through its enforcement somehow.

Too soon the time came for us to be off to meet Mr.
Costain in Liverpool. Miss Samuels drove us back to where
our Ford was parked. We gingerly "decanted" ourselves
from Austin to Ford and were on our way.

18

DUTCH HOUSING
BEATS DEPRESSION

THE NEXT morning we were off to Manchester. On
being shown our room in the Midlands Hotel, we found the
bath very British. The size of the tub was about normal for
England, being a comfortable six feet in length, but the ex-
tent of the exposed piping was what made it a "pipe dream."
Writhing like glittering snakes, the labyrinth twisted and
turned tortuously to bring hot and cold water to the busi-
ness end of the tub. Each coiling pipe was silver-plated in
magnificent contrast to the multicolored tile floor and richly
veined, black-based marble wainscot.

I counted seven separate runs of exposed plumbing. Five
were involved with the hot- and cold-water supplies, while
the other two were waste pipes. And in addition to the
faucets on the taps, which at long last released the water into
the tub, there were five more valves on as many pipelines.
Not being an engineer, I didn't feel up to measuring the
linear feet of pipe, whose serpentine convolutions reminded
us of the Laocoon Group in the Vatican. Laura, who has a
horror of snakes, took her bath in a hurry.

As usual, John Martin's letter had opened all doors.
Leonard Heywood, director of Housing, met us at his office.

192

Dutch Housing Beats Depression 193

His long upper lip, firm mouth, and pugilistic-shaped ears
indicated a fighter. Protruding brows and somewhat low hair-
line accentuated the impression, though as it turned out his
manner was friendly and mild.

Heywood told us all about the housing ceremonies of the
day before when Manchester had dedicated one of its most
extensive slum-clearance areas. It was no ordinary dedication.
Both the present Minister of Health, Sir Kingsley Wood, and
the former incumbent, Mr. Arthur Greenwood, participated,
although they were vigorous political opponents.

"You must go and see the site yourself," Heywood said.
"But first off, I do want to tell you of the rare good humor
Sir Kingsley and Mr. Greenwood displayed. Housing was
their common ground. As the present Minister put it, 'There
are no political barriers when the housing of the people is
concerned.' " Heywood paused a moment. "Then d'you know
what Sir Kingsley did? Straight away he named a new block
of two hundred and four flats, 'Greenwood House.' He got
off a good one, too. Said something about how happy every-
one would be under the Greenwood tree.

"When it came to Greenwood's turn to lay a foundation
stone out in the Collyhurst area, he dubbed the block of
flats, 'Sir Kingsley Wood House.' Greenwood expressed the
hope that the flats would be even better than those named
after him. But all of his talk was not so good-humored. When
he touched upon what had brought about our slums, he let
our forefathers have what for, I can tell you." Heywood
grinned. "It's a pity you couldn't have come a day earlier.
But you can see it all, anyway, and today you'll miss the
push."

As was so frequently the case our guide considered the
slums of his city the worst in history. He may well have been
right, for De Quincey had said, a hundred and fifty years

194 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

before, "No great city could present so repulsive an appear-
ance as Manchester."

Our first stop was at the Collyhurst Clearance, where as far
as the eye could see were acres of piles of rubble. These
masses of crumbling brick looked at if some giant had
slapped down his massive palm to crush the entire area.
Dotted over the seventy-seven square blocks of former slums
were pyres of infested timbers being burned to rid them of
vermin. The lumber was too rotten for use, and the bricks
so far gone that they would be crushed to serve as aggregate
for concrete in the new flats.

In the afternoon the saturnine, bulbous-nosed, be-derbied
Mr. W. Smith, from Mr. Heywood's office, took us to the
municipally owned, satellite town of Wythenshawe. The car
we rode in was small, and Mr. Smith found it difficult to get
in or out without bumping his bowler. But he took it good-
naturedly, removing his hat as he ducked through the door
to save the derby from being dented.

The partial solution of Manchester's housing problem was
attained by building this complete new town. At the time of
our visit, the city had completed about eight thousand houses,
private companies around eight hundred, and there were
fifteen factories in production.

There were many practical innovations. A minor one stood
out at the shopping center. The stores were built in a crescent
with what at first appeared to be green grass in the parkway
between curb and sidewalk. But as Mr. Smith ducked from
our car I saw that the entire expanse was concrete, with an
integral green pigment, from curb to walk. The effect was
pleasing and economical, both in first cost and maintenance.

A few days after our return to the Carlton Hotel in
London, Sir Ernest Simon, M.A., former Lord Mayor of

Dutch Housing Beats Depression 195

Manchester, called to discuss our visit to his city during his
absence. It was he and his wife, Lady Simon, who had con-
tributed the twenty-six acres, valued at about 60,000 pounds,
for the central park at Wythenshawe.

It was not out of the ordinary to find such distinguished
couples of wealth and standing in the forefront of the British
slum-clearance movement, few though their opposite num-
bers were in the United States. What a vital part of his life
this avocation had become was demonstrated when Sir
Ernest was later raised by the King, in 1947, from knight to
baron, largely because of his slum-clearance achievements.
As is customary, he had something to say about the form of
his new title and chose to become Lord Simon of Wythen-
shawe, thus linking slum clearance to his name for all time.

When the day came to show my film at the Housing Centre,
I was uneasy about what to say as an introduction. Prac-
tically everyone expected to attend was an expert on slum
clearance: Sir Raymond Unwin, Barry Parker, John Wrigley,
Major Barnes, Captain Amies, W. R. Davidge, Trystan
Edwards, their wives, the officials and members of the Hous-
ing Centre, and others. What was new, I wondered, that
could be told to this distinguished company?

Finally an idea came. Why not relate slum clearance to
war? War was uppermost in the minds of all Britishers at the
time. And it wasn't needless worry, as it later turned out.

That evening, to break the ice before developing the slum-
war idea, I risked a story old in America but, I hoped, new
to the British. It seems that a psychiatrist was lecturing to
the inmates of an institution for the feeble-minded. His
audience paid little attention. So to jolt them back to what
he was saying, he suddenly shouted, "Why are we all here?
Why are we all here?" His audience stirred in their seats and

196 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

one patient rose to his feet. "I'll tell you why we're all here,"
he haltingly volunteered. "We're all here because we aren't
all there."

A few smiles appeared, but apparently I had laid an egg.
I tried to explain that we all had at least one thing in
common, an interest in slum clearance, and if we hadn't,
then we "weren't all there," when there was a loud guffaw
from Mr. Barry Parker, who had just caught the point. He
rocked back and forth in his seat in the front row until the
tears rolled down his cheeks. This delayed explosion set off
laughter throughout the audience, but not so loud as to be
boisterous. However, it did break the ice jam.

I then recalled to them how the Austrians had held back
Bolshevism through such projects as the George Washington
Hof and Leopoldau. The audience hadn't seemed to realize
before that making jobs by clearing slums and rehousing the
poor, instead of making jobs in preparation for war, was
using constructive rather than destructive means to solve
world-wide unemployment. Their exchange of glances in-
dicated agreement on the idea that if all nations cleared their
slums and rehoused their poor there would be no need to go
&Q war to make jobs.

Sir Raymond Unwin was first on his feet after the movie.
There had been gratifying widespread applause and not a
few calls of "Hear! Hear!"

From the attention promptly given to Sir Raymond, it
was plain to see that he was regarded as the dean of housing
in Britain, just as his pre-eminence in that field was also
recognized in America.

"In proposing a vote of thanks to our friend from the
States," Sir Raymond said, "first off I should like to observe
that it may not be entirely inappropriate that I should be
the one to make such a motion. You see"— here his eyes

Dutch Housing Beats Depression 197

twinkled, and he fiddled with his Windsor tie— "I am some-
what familiar with the ways of the country from whence our
lecturer comes. Not only with its housing but with its food
and drink. For have I not partaken of fried chicken and
mint juleps in Georgia? And have I not seen in its building
the very housing estate that the great President Roosevelt
dedicated before our eyes in the films this evening?

"And such a crowd there was for that dedication! Would
that we had similar outpourings here in England for similar
occasions. How did you manage it? Is there that much en-
thusiasm for slum clearance now in America? I seem to recall
that you were encountering difficulties when I was last there,
Palmer."

"Yes, Sir Raymond," I replied, "we had our difficulties and
still do. And as far as the movie is concerned, honesty forces
me to confess that there was some politics mixed up in what
you saw. The crowd had come from all over Georgia to wel-
come the President back to his southern home after a rather
extended absence. It was Home-Coming Day. The dedication
of Techwood was appropriate but incidental. Had it been
some other day, and especially some other speaker, there
would have been fewer people present."

"Well, be that as it may," Sir Raymond continued, "we
here at the Housing Centre have found a new point of view.
There are too often the wearisome presentations of our sub-
ject by mere repetition of that which we already know. This
evening has been different. Not only the spritely, oral intro-
duction of the films by our lecturer, which our esteemed
colleague, Mr. Barry Parker, so much enjoyed, but the films
themselves as well.

"This new point of view to which I referred, is the tenable,
justifiable view that slum clearance and rehousing can, and
should, be internationally employed to prevent wars. That is

198 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

the thought we shall carry away with us. That is the thought
to ponder."

The flight from Croydon to Holland on Friday, July 31,
was uneventful. A letter of introduction had already gone
forward to Herr Arie Keppler, director of Housing in Amster-
dam, from our mutual friend, Coleman Woodbury, of the
National Association of Housing Officials in America. He
was well prepared when we arrived at his office in the City
Hall the next morning. By his side was his young, capable
assistant, Ir. L. van Marlen, B.I., who was also anxious to
help us in every way possible. Both of them spoke precise
English.

"Probably you will wish to hear how housing is in all the
Netherlands first, /a?" Keppler began. "Then we talk about
Amsterdam. Amsterdam is my job, but maybe I know some-
thing about the whole country, too. Shall I tell you?"
"Nothing would suit us better," I assured him.
"The background first, so?" Herr Keppler leaned back in
his chair. "Well, we Dutchmen knew a long time ago, when
King William III ruled, that the government has duties to
clear slums. The King appointed a commission; that was in
1853. The next year, when the commission had reported,
one of the members of Parliament introduced legislation that
formed the basis for our very good Housing Act of 1901.
The legislation of 1854 had been defeated. We weren't ready
then, but we did know that something had to be done.

"In 1918 we found that our people needed many houses;
we had not built fast enough. We also found that many people
needed jobs; but we had no work for them. Shipping, our
biggest job, was no good. Other countries would not let us
ship; they had high tariffs to keep our products out. They
would not hire our ships for their own goods, either. What

Dutch Housing Beats Depression 199

must we do? Well, we needed houses, and we needed jobs.
Why not combine the two? That would not help our ship-
ping. But it would clear slums, and it would make work. We
had all the materials to build with inside our own country;
we would not have to get them from outside. Anyway, they
would not take our goods in exchange. That is why they
made so big tariffs after the war.

"We went to work. In 1918 we had 1,380,000 houses. By
1933 we had added 658,000 more. How did we increase our
housing by fifty per cent in fifteen years? With government
help. We gave private industry subsidy, too. The Dutch
people were ready. We had the state control and the state
money. If cities would not act, then the Crown would. And
it did.

"By 1930 more than twenty per cent of all industrial
workers were building-trade workers. You see what building
does to employment, /a? We made mistakes but we got the
housing done. People live better. There is less crime. There
is less sickness. And while Germany and Italy made work by
preparing for war, we made work by preparing for peace.
That is what our little country— we have only eight million
people— has done with housing."

"Do politicians bother you much?" I asked.

"Yes, much trouble, much trouble," he emphatically re-
plied. "Any housing department is a storm center of politics.
Politics is the greatest weakness of municipal housing. I don't
like politics. Only because I am protected by civil service
can I sit in the driver's seat." Herr Keppler liked that phrase.
He smiled. "If I not sit in the driver's seat, I get out!" He
slammed his fist on the desk. Van Marlen was greatly en-
joying his chief's agitation. The young assistant's round,
pink face flushed with pleasure, and his blue eyes twinkled.

200 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

"Do you use women on your staff?" I wondered aloud,
hoping to shift to a pleasanter subject. It worked.

"I would not be without them," Herr Keppler declared.
"But I can't find enough to fill all my places. You know the
Octavia Hill system, of course. That is what we use. But our
teaching courses do not produce enough trained women to
fill our vacancies."

We visited many projects, but Herr van Marlen saved to
the last the truly unique in slum rehousing. This was the
project for the unsocial at Asterdord. As we approached, the
place looked much like a fort. It was set in the midst of a
barren field, and the outer one-story houses formed a solid,
all-enclosing wall of what appeared to be paving bricks.
Above the huge entrance gate, and set back on the wall-like
perimeter, was a combination lookout tower and manage-
ment office. It formed the only two-story structure and re-
sembled a large artillery emplacement. Even the windows
were long slits. But these were not barred as were the ones
on the houses below that made the outer wall. While the
bars looked like long, horizontal rows of lattice, they had
not been fashioned as trellises for flowers. Their stout dual
purpose was to keep the tenants in, once they were home,
and to keep thieves out. Surely this was too grim. Van Marlen
sensed our bewildered revulsion.

"This is our cure for bad tenants," he said grimly. "We
did not want to build it, but we thought it would serve a
definite need. We were right as you will see."

Reluctantly we entered the massive gates. The few listless
humans loitering on the streets were momentarily forgotten
as the woman in charge greeted us. Brawny, smiling, be-
scrubbed, and hatless, a blonde six-footer, she strode forward
to extend a hard-working hand for a hearty shake. She didn't

Dutch Housing Beats Depression 201

speak English, but that cordial handclasp said more than
any words could.

' 'Shall we go up to the office?" van Marlen inquired. "We
can see the whole project from there."

The view swept every street, front and rear. Below us
stretched out the six-sided enclosure. Tracing the inside of
the periphery was a cobbled street that served the houses
forming the outer wall. The remaining units were arranged
in three hollow blocks, all converging on the entrance gate.
The only spots of earth to be seen were around the few
scattered saplings; all else was brick or concrete. Even the
little trees, which scarcely topped the low buildings, had
metal guards around them as high as human hands could
reach. The rear yards were divided by roof-high, solid walls.
All were capped with sharp bits of jagged, broken glass em-
bedded in the copings to discourage prowlers. The windows
of the houses within the compound were barred in the
manner of those in the outer walls. Closer examination
showed how the trellis design had been further softened. The
lower border of each horizontal grouping was deeply scalloped
to break the harsh lines.

Laura and I turned from the window and took seats with
van Marlen and his assistant at her desk.

"You said, Herr van Marlen," I reminded him, "that this
project has proved to you that such a development serves a
useful purpose."

"Yes," he replied. "And let us recall that I also said we did
not want to build it. But we were not solving the problem of
the bad tenant. We had tried everything else— kindness, dis-
cipline, ejection. No good. What we finally decided was that
the bad tenant needs educating, and that education must be
under rigid control, with those needing it being isolated from
those who did not.

202 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

"This meant a separate project, so we built Asterdord.
There are less than a hundred and forty units here. Others
could be added if required. But we have learned that this
place is big enough. Please mark that this is enough. We
found that something over one hundred dwellings are all
that are needed to handle the bad tenants from among the
twenty-eight thousand we supervise. That is really very little."

"But how does it work? Do you force the incorrigible to
come here?"

"Yes and no," van Marlen said. "We do not make them
come here. But we do force them to leave good housing when
they repeatedly throw too many beer bottles through the
windows, steal from others, and keep on making trouble.
After patience fails, we eject them. Then they try living in the
gutter. When they find nowhere to turn but to us, they come
back and promise to be good. We say, 'No, you have promised
before. You upset the other tenants. We will not have you/
Then they cry and swear to reform. They tell us to have pity
on their children. Just please take them in once more, and
they will show us that they will not be bad again. But not
until they volunteer to be good, do we place them in Aster-
dord. So you see, they come at their own request. And once
here, the education and discipline begin.

"The gates close at nine o'clock. Anyone who is late sleeps
in the street that night. All sorts of unfortunates are housed.
Some are mendicants. Others are peddlers. For them we have
stalls where they can lock up their pushcarts to protect their
meager stocks from thieves. Every dwelling has a kitchen-
living room, w.c., and bedrooms. There are no frills; every-
thing is basic. One central set of baths and one laundry serve
all. Furniture is built in to prevent breakage."

"How are rents fixed and dwellings assigned?"

"Assignments are according to family size. We are most

Dutch Housing Beats Depression 203

interested in the children and try to have the house large
enough for them to sleep away from their parents. Often the
old people are too far gone to be helped, but the children,
no. Rents are at a flat rate. That is our policy in all projects.
But here the rent is much lower than in other places; as little
as three florins [sixty cents] for a two-bedroom house. And
often even that is supplied by charitable organizations."

I asked about making pictures. Consent was readily given,
and I set my camera. Word spread of what was taking place.
Ragged children appeared, but there were no smiles or shouts
of laughter. A few of them wore wooden shoes but most were
barefoot. Nearby, a man with an evil leer sat on an upturned
bucket at his doorstep, feet wide apart, peeling potatoes.

Down the street came another man, legs off below the
knees. As he torturously waddled closer, we could see the
clods on which he crept, his swinging hands but a few inches
from the ground. In an aside I asked van Marlen if it would
be all right to take such pictures. He thought they would like
it, so I began a slow movie panorama of them all. The potato
peeler's leer changed to a broad grin; the cap of the footless
man came off his head with a jaunty sweep; and the children
massed wherever the camera pointed, a hesitant smile break-
ing through their solemn faces here and there.

Very little was said as Laura and I drove back to the hotel.
We had been given too much to think about. Sunday after-
noon we left for The Hague, where there was also a project
for the unsocial, and asked to see it first. In a densely popu-
lated district, we found it to be much like a prison. It seemed
to lack the firm but understanding management of Asterdord.
We refrained from expressing the bewilderment we felt about
the projects for the unsocial. To have the only two we knew
of in the world situated in prim, trim Holland puzzled us
even more.

204 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

Discussing this enigma on our flight back to London on
August 3, we concluded that the unsocial projects stemmed
from Dutch realism. Compassionately practical, they took
action, in solving the problem of the incorrigible tenant,
that was certainly forthright. And that same characteristic
had resulted in the most important thing we had learned in
Holland— that housing can beat depressions.

19

BANDBOXES

AND FATHEB PENN

WE SAILED for Quebec on August 8, 1936, and
drove to Atlanta, anxious to catch up on the progress made
in our own slum clearance.

Rents had been straightened out during our absence. They
were at last fixed low enough so that the former slum dwellers
of the Tanyard Creek area could afford to pay them, and
they began moving into the new homes of Techwood. The
formal dedication was not unlike that at Brightwells in
London except that we had no H.R.H., Princess Alice,
Countess of Athlone, present. But the first lady of our land,
Mrs. Roosevelt, had graciously arranged so that her partici-
pation would not end with the day. From the home of the
President at Hyde Park she gave a rosebush to the Hyde Park
group of the Boy Scouts of America, who delivered it by air-
plane to their fellow Boy Scouts in Atlanta. At the conclusion
of the speeches on Techwood Day, the Boy Scouts and the
Girl Scouts of Atlanta together embedded the Hyde Park
rosebush in the former slum soil there to bloom where flowers
never bloomed before.

Mayor James L. Key issued an Official Proclamation that:

"WHEREAS, the construction of Techwood Homes has

eliminated from this city eleven blocks of slum area . . . re-

205

206 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

moval of these slum conditions has contributed to improving
the health of our citizens . . . has reduced the fire hazard . . .
has provided honest employment of useful labor . . .

"WHEREAS, ... the City of Atlanta is leading our nation
in this new field of social justice for our citizens . . .

"THEREFORE, I, ... proclaim Tuesday, September ist,
1936 ... as Techwood Day. . . ."

Dr. Brittain presided at the ceremonies, and Colonel
Hackett, now U.S. Administrator of Housing, was in rare
form. The going had been really rough. This affair was a
bench mark in the history of housing, and he made the most
of it. First he plugged for a new housing law to replace the
temporary make-work legislation that had resulted in Tech-
wood.

"I have sufficient faith in the progress of America to be-
lieve that this is just a beginning," he said. "Senator Wagner
introduced at the last session of Congress a bill which is de-
signed to perpetuate the public housing movement. This bill
was acclaimed by every class in America. It undoubtedly will
be presented again at the next session of Congress. Enactment
of this bill and a continuation of slum clearance and low-rent
housing call for progressive and realistic leadership. It cannot
be done if we are content to await the passing of miracles
now promised in some quarters, or if we believe that words
can serve as well as bricks."

The Colonel's reference to "miracles" had the opposition
in mind, for he went on, "Completed in an election year,
Techwood Homes is being criticized by certain elements for
political effect— that it is not self-liquidating and rents not
high enough. Although I worked for months on the problem,
I was never able to figure out how housing can be amortized
out of the revenue from people who can't pay rent. Yet per-

Bandboxes and Father Penn 207

haps the gentlemen who criticize could perform such miracles
themselves."

High and low, rich and poor, young and old made up the
audience, which spread over the grass-covered terrace below
the speakers' platform. The one hundred and sixteen families
that had moved into Techwood since August 15 were there
en masse, their muddy alleys left behind forever.

With Techwood a going concern, I kept pegging away to
make the public slum-clearance conscious. In November,
Laura and I again hit the trail. The first stop was in Boston
for illustrated talks to the Boston Building Congress and the
Harvard Business School in Cambridge.

From Boston we hopped up to Dartmouth for a talk and
the movie, then headed for New York. On November 19 the
medicine-man show was before the New York Building Con-
gress. Next I spoke at Princeton. We ended the swing around
the circle convinced that undergraduates were more alert
to the slum problem, and more determined to do something
about it, than the old grads or the businessmen.

In early December, I went to the annual meeting of the
National Association of Housing Officials in Philadelphia.
A large group of us toured the "bandboxes" of the city.
Spawned when the Industrial Reyolution reached America in
1854, they solidly covered the interior of blocks in the
working-class district. When labor was needed to tend the
ever-increasing machines, the owners of the hollow square
blocks of hovels— which in 1854 were already teeming with
humanity— erected these three-story "bandboxes" within the
hollow squares. Then they cut thirty-inch-wide "tunnels"
through the outer housing to enable the dwellers to reach
their "bandbox" homes.

Twelve feet square and three stories high, the only win-
dows fronted on the narrow walking space between the "band-

208 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

boxes" and the outer houses on the street. There were no
openings on the sides or rear because of the juxtaposition of
other "bandboxes." The first floor of each house was designed
for cooking, the second as living quarters, and the third for
sleeping. This upper floor was often only four-and-a-half
feet high. There was no need for a loftier ceiling, the owners
explained, since the sleepers lay there prone and it wasn't
necessary to stand up. Outdoor privies were jointly shared
by many families, and water was carried from the nearest
common hydrant. One joker— if it may be so called—was that
a separate family usually occupied each of the three floors.
In this and similar housing, 60,000 people lived in Philadel-
phia in 1936.

Such a depressing record in modern times did not improve
the past reputation of Philadelphians for apathy toward
slums. Back in 1880 there were so many foul privy vaults
within the city— about which the owners would do nothing—
that the Board of Health was forced to act and ordered all
such health hazards replaced with more sanitary facilities.
The slum owners carried the case to the Supreme Court.

"The cause of the nuisance," the court ruled, "was not the
privy vault itself, but its contents. The mere hole in the
ground was not a nuisance. When, therefore, the well was
cleaned and purified, the cause of the nuisance was removed.
It is true, it might become a nuisance again. In such an event,
it would require to be again cleansed. The order requiring
the owners to put in waterclosets, if sustained by this court,
might be far-reaching in its consequences, and lead to serious
and obnoxious abuses."

Thus for the legalistic-minded reason that the owner, per
se, did not create the nuisance— although the insanitary
facilities that he rented out caused the tenant to commit the
nuisance— the court overruled the Board of Health. Conse-

Bandboxes and Father Penn 209

quently, in 1934, fifty-four years after that ruling, there were
still four thousand privy vaults officially reported in the City
of Brotherly Love.

On my last evening there, the lack of interest of the good
people of Philadelphia in clearing their slums was brought
to me with equal force but greater contrast. The train for
Boston, where I was to talk with Professor Felix Frankfurter,
did not leave until midnight, and restless from what I had
seen of the "bandboxes," I paced the quiet city streets.

Reaching the imposing City Hall, where Father Penn stood
proudly aloft over the great city he had founded, I glimpsed
a light among the flowers of the interior gardens. Coming
closer, I saw an illuminated diorama in a glass case set on a
table. It colorfully depicted an open-air zoo that was built
to scale and complete with animals, caves, trees, and all. At-
tached was a notice proclaiming that 400,000 citizens of
Philadelphia had signed a petition to rehouse the animals of
the city's zoo.

As I stood there, stunned at the contrast of effort in housing
animals and people, a shabbily dressed, aged woman shuffled
to my side. We looked at the zoo exhibit together, and neither
of us spoke for a moment.

"What do you think of it?" I finally inquired.

"Think of what? Rehousing the zoo?" she piped in a
querulous tone of voice. "Why, it would be a fine thing, I
suppose. I like animals, I do."

"So do I," I assured her. "But have you ever seen the 'band-
boxes'?"

"You bet I have!" she exclaimed with a scowl. "The 'band-
boxes' are terrible. They're simply awful!"

"Well," I suggested, "don't you think it would be much
better to rehouse the poor people who live in the 'bandboxes'
first, and take care of the animals at the zoo a little later on?"

210 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

"Yes, indeed." She nodded vigorously as she digested the
idea. "I never thought of that before, but it would be grand!"

The purpose of my visit to Professor Felix Frankfurter
in Cambridge was to enlist his help with President Roosevelt.
Not that the President was unaware of the need to clear
slums. I well knew of his deep interest in the matter. But
my feeling was that a viewing of the films might prompt the
President to give housing top priority. Then slum clearance
would become a continuing national policy instead of merely
an emergency measure to make jobs.

Harry Hopkins could not— or at least did not— arrange for
a film showing. Neither had anything come from calling on
Marvin Mclntyre at Warm Springs and exhibiting the pic-
tures to Henry Kanee there.

In seeking another approach to the President, I noticed
that the newspapers had been mentioning the frequency of
Professor Frankfurter's visits to the White House. William
A. Sutherland, who had studied under Professor Frankfurter
at Harvard Law School, was a mutual friend. When I put the
matter up to Bill, he arranged the meeting with Frankfurter
for December 6, 1936, at Cambridge.

A courteous maid took me to Professor Frankfurter's living
room when I turned up at his comfortable, unpretentious
home that Sunday morning. There was little that was dis-
tinctive in the furnishings, and that little was forgotten when
Frankfurter entered. The mere presence of the little man so
drew me to him that he was all I saw or thought about.
Twinkling, intense, the pince-nez'd blue eyes in the massive
head alternated between quick, all-inclusive friendly under-
standing and impatience to get on with things. Never before—
with the exception of the President— had I met a man who
could keep so far ahead of your unexpressed thoughts. Mid-

Bandboxes and Father Penn 211

way in a sentence, Professor Frankfurter would nod or make
a pertinent comment on what I was about to say. Not to
interrupt, but simply to save time. Physically small, mentally
a giant, it was no wonder that this patriot was always wel-
come at the White House.

"The really best way," Professor Frankfurter said after I
had explained my problem, "would be for you to stay at the
White House for several days. Then at odd moments, when
you caught the President, you could unburden yourself of
the whole story." Frankfurter's finger tips were meeting; he
was apparently speaking from personal experience. "No one
who has not seen quite a bit of the President lately can pos-
sibly realize how impossible it is for him to give much con-
secutive attention to a single problem. There are far too
many of them. But none more important than slum clearance,
I agree.

"You say you have talked with Ben Cohen and Tom
Corcoran but didn't get very far. Well, they are up against
much the same problem for time. But let me have a talk
with them. I'll be in Washington within the next few weeks.
Then I'll write you what I find out."

Professor Frankfurter was still for a long, full minute as
his keen eyes looked me up and down.

"Keep on with what you are doing," he urged. "Once a
housing program gets under way, we shall get somewhere.
You'll hear from me soon."

Back home again in Atlanta— at least for the moment—I
was invited to a "big meeting" of the Washington Memorial
Library Forum of Macon. That city needed its slums cleared,
and I said I'd help. Laura and I drove down and, while not
expecting an audience of seven hundred as at the Harvard
Club in New York, we figured there would be a sizable crowd.

212 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

However, the attendance totaled just seven people. While
bad weather was blamed for the poor showing, I found that
there had been practically no advance notice.

The seven people in the audience who had braved the
elements were already proponents. Laura and I were learn-
ing the hard way. We had made a water haul, and there were
no converts to the cause.

Into this discouragement came more bad news. A letter
from Professor Frankfurter said, "I should have written you
earlier, but I was awaiting opportunities for personal talk
before writing. It is perfectly clear to me that Messrs. Cohen
and Corcoran have so many other commitments that their
minds simply cannot turn effectively to your problems."

Well, that was that I Some other approach to the President
would have to be found. After all, it was he who could— and
would, I believed— do the most to put housing on the track
once he came to understand its urgency.

On February 13, 1937, a letter came from "Ernie" Bohn,
president of the National Association of Housing Officials,
that a group would meet on the nineteenth in Washington to
revise housing legislation previously proposed.

My optimism mounted on reading a preliminary draft.
There was ample provision for both federal and local sub-
sidies so that the rents would be low enough for people from
the slums to afford. The scheme was not unlike that used in
England.

Senator Wagner introduced the bill. My main fear was
that the proponents of the act did not appreciate the terrific
amount of selling the Congress still needed.

March 5 was a red-letter day in Atlanta, especially to those
interested in slum clearance. With less than three hours be-
tween trains, Mrs. Roosevelt spent most of her limited time
at Techwood and University Homes.

Bandboxes and Father Penn 213

Major Clark Howell, Jr., publisher of the Atlanta Consti-
tution, had succeeded to his father's interest in housing on
the death of Mr. Howell, Sr., on November 14, 1936. Conse-
quently, Clark was quietly notified that Mrs. Roosevelt and
her secretary, Miss Malvina Thompson, might be interested
in seeing our slum-clearance projects during an unannounced
stopover in Atlanta.

Dr. Brittain, Major Howell, Ralph McGill, of The Con-
stitution, and I met them at the station and immediately
headed for Techwood. I drove, and Mrs. Roosevelt sat be-
side me.

"I so well remember the day Franklin dedicated Tech-
wood," she breezily reminisced. "It was his kind of day,
sunny and cheery. He was immensely pleased, and so was I."

As soon as we arrived, the word spread quickly that the
First Lady was visiting Techwood, and in no time at all she
was surrounded by admiring children. Mrs. Roosevelt slowed
her swinging stride so the little tots could keep up, and as a
thought puzzled her, a frown came on her usually smiling
face.

"Tell me more about the playgrounds," she prompted.
"These smaller children don't have to compete with the larger
ones, do they?"

She showed pleasure in learning that children under six
years of age had separate play areas, well fenced and with
sand piles.

The stride lengthened as Mrs. Roosevelt got back into
high again. How about the laundries? We inspected those.
And what about the apartments themselves? Not an occupied
one as she hated to disturb any housewife. There was a typical
unit still vacant on the second floor. You could sense that if
Mrs. Roosevelt had her way she would have taken the steps
two at a time.

214 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

Soon we were off to University Homes, which was already
partly occupied. This is how Ralph McGill told the story in
The Constitution.

"At the colored housing project, two young girls stood on
the walk peering toward the door through which Mrs.
Roosevelt and her party had gone.

1 'Tis,' said one.

" 'Tain't,' said the other.

" 'Tis so. I done seen her in the movies.'

" 'Tain't no such. There ain't no police. Whyfor there
ain't no police if 'ats Mrs. Roosevelt?'

" 'Whyfor police? You think she gwine bring all her
money along down here? Is you crazy?'

"By this time a crowd had gathered.

" 'Is 'at Mrs. Roosevelt?' the first girl inquired.

" 'Yes, it's Mrs. Roosevelt,' someone replied.

" To' Godl Lemme out of here!'

"And so she ran yelling, 'Mommer, Mommer, come a-run-
nin'l It's Mrs. Roosevelt, sho 'nuf. Honest, Mommer. I ain't
lyin', honest!'

"And so it went. A crowd gathered quickly as this woman,
one of the most intelligent and courageous in America and
in the world, saw what progress had been made toward social
betterment for the masses of the people."

Miss Florence Read, president of Spelman College, which
adjoined the former Beavers' Slide, that worst of all slums,
now replaced by University Homes, and Mr. Alonzo Moron,
the housing manager, acted as guides. Mrs. Roosevelt turned
to Miss Reid as we toured the buildings.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "I believe it is as im-
portant, maybe more important, for a housewife to know how
her servant lives as for an industrialist to know how his
workers live. The average head of a house takes it for granted

Bandboxes and Father Penn 215

that servants live in good places, but many don't. They live
in insanitary quarters, which results in their bringing into
the homes of well-to-do families epidemics and disease. For
that reason, if not for the humanitarian basis, certainly for
self-interest, everyone should clean up slums."

Before we returned her to the train, Mrs. Roosevelt visited
the jail, which had been completed with WPA funds. She
even went into the women's cell block and talked with the
wrecks from the streets.

Leon Keyserling, who had worked on the preliminary
draft, telegraphed to suggest that I testify on the new housing
bill in Washington on April 15, 1937.

Senator Walsh presided at the hearing and was in the
chair when Mayor LaGuardia testified. We were all seated
at a large table with a vacant space on either side of New
York City's fiery mayor. In his enthusiasm, he would occasion-
ally slip from his chair and sidle back and forth along the
table, pounding his fist and gesticulating. He was so short in
stature that, whether seated or standing, there was no appar-
ent difference in his height.

It was a three-ring circus. Senator Walsh continually inter-
rupted with irrelevancies. The Right Honourable Herbert
Stanley Morrison, Member of Parliament and Leader of the
London County Council, testified by invitation. But while
he was attempting to detail the British experience, Senator
Walsh broke in so often that Morrison never did tell his
story. He did, however, get in one telling statement.

"Legislation for housing of the working population of
England," he pointed out, "has existed since 1890. It has
been a commonplace part of British public affairs. It is now
accepted by all British political parties that the slums are
a disgrace, overcrowding is a disgrace, and it is the duty of

216 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

the Government and Great Britain to get rid of them as
quickly as they can."

During my session on the stand, Senator Walsh broke in
frequently.

"The slums," he blandly stated, "are usually owned un-
fortunately by poor people who have to live in them them-
selves, who have two or three tenements, or have two or three
houses and rent them."

The Senator did not trouble to explain why he classified
such slum owners, receiving extortionate rents, as poor people.

As others who testified stressed the social angle, my argu-
ment was directed along economic lines.

There was more, much more. But the thinking in Congress
was still confused. What was needed beyond anything else
was positive word and aggressive action from the White
House.

20

WHITE HOUSE—

VIA MRS. ROOSEVELT

THREE YEARS of plugging without success to reach
the President with the slum-clearance story had emphasized
the need for his personal attention. Hopkins, Wallace,
Wagner, Frankfurter, Mclntyre— none had opened the door
to the White House. But positive word and aggressive action
by President Roosevelt had now become imperative, or an-
other housing bill would fail to pass. Without the President's
help it would be the same old story again.

Once I had felt that he might temporize with big issues.
That was when he spoke in Atlanta on May 22, 1932, during
his first campaign for the Presidency.

"The country needs and, unless I mistake its temper, the
country demands," he had said, "bold, persistent experimen-
tation. It is common sense to take a method and try it. If it
fails, admit it frankly and try another. But above all try some-
thing. The millions who are in want will not stand by silently
forever while the things to satisfy their needs are within
easy reach."

Sitting only a few feet from Roosevelt when he made that
statement, I mistakenly judged it to be cheap, political clap-
trap. "If elected I don't know what I'm going to do, but I'll
do something" was the way his thinking sounded to me. I

217

21 8 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

had found him a charming man socially at that 'possum
supper back in 1930, but such a public statement as "above
all try something" and then not to name the "something"
decided me to vote for Hoover.

Luckily Roosevelt didn't need my vote— we laughed about
it together in later years. Nor, as I had incorrectly guessed,
was he uncertain about what to do. He knew his course but
wisely avoided specific details in advance of election. His
forthright action with the banks in March, 1933, proved that
he was a doer, and also proved how badly I had misjudged
him. From then on I became his devoted follower.

Now if he would only be as decisive with the slums in 1937
as he had been with the banks in 1933! The issue must be
shown to him clearly and concisely. He would have to see it
in capsule form.

"See it" was exactly what I wanted, and the movies would
do it. As Jacob Riis had put it in The Making of an Ameri-
can, "I wrote but my words seemed to make no impression—
until my negatives, still dripping from the darkroom, came to
reinforce them. From them there was no appeal."

In addition to all the others, I had also been working
through Mrs. Roosevelt. In January, 1937, sne nac* said tnat
I might send her the movies on the chance she could fit them
into the President's schedule somehow.

Not until May did word come that the first lady would see
me on the seventeenth at twelve noon. Prompt to the second,
Mrs. Roosevelt met me in the red reception room of the
White House, indicated that I was to sit beside her on the
settee across from the fireplace, and turned her better ear
my way.

"Now," she said, "please tell me how I can help."

Her mind raced ahead of mine as I recounted my many
attempts to reach the President through others, and brought

White House — via Mrs. Roosevelt 219

her up to date on how the slum-clearance legislation had
bogged down. She seemed to catch the now-or-never spirit,
rose abruptly, and asking me to wait a moment, left the room.

"It's all arranged," she said radiantly when she returned.
"Come for dinner tonight. You shall show your films to the
President afterward. I still have your reels, and our film
operator will do all that is necessary, so don't worry."

She seemed as happy as I— well, almost— that the President
would now "see" the need for action.

There were six guests for dinner in the family dining room
that evening. The President was already seated as we entered,
and Mrs. Roosvelt asked me to sit at his left. "Then you can
talk housing to your heart's content." Mrs. Henry Morgen-
thau was on his right.

In a high-backed chair, duplicating the President's and
across the center of the oval table from him, sat Mrs. Roose-
velt. At her right was Secretary of the Treasury Morgenthau,
and at her left Franklin Pierce Adams, newspaper columnist.
Mrs. Adams was between Secretary Morgenthau and me.
Edward L. Roddan, assistant to Charles Michelson in han-
dling publicity and various other chores for the Democratic
Party, sat between Mrs. Morgenthau and Mr. Adams.

No sooner did the soup appear than Mrs. Roosevelt sug-
gested that I start talking slum clearance. While waiting for
a lead, I had been doing what came naturally, crumbling
toast in my soup. With attention directed my way by Mrs.
Roosevelt's remark, I realized my subconscious faux pas, and
noted with relief that the President had already beaten me
in crumbling his toast in his soup. But before I could wind
up on the need to clear slums, Secretary Morgenthau broke
into the conversation.

"Aha!" he exclaimed. "I see you are after my gold."

220 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

The President chuckled at such a frontal attack by the
watchdog of the Treasury, so I countered by avoiding slums
for the moment and sticking to the subject of gold.

"I wonder if you would tell me, Mr. President," I asked,
"if the story about Gene Black of Atlanta making a pass at
the gold service here in the White House has any truth
in it?"

"What story is that?" he inquired.

I then repeated how it was reported that Eugene Black
dined at the White House the night the President had in-
structed Mr. Black, in his capacity as governor of the Federal
Reserve Board, to sequester all gold for the Government. As
a good soldier, though reluctantly, Mr. Black had followed
orders.

It seems that when Mr. Black sat down in the State Dining
Room that evening, he found that the gold service was being
used.

"You know," Secretary Morgenthau interrupted at this
point, "those pieces are not solid gold. They are merely
plate."

"You mean 'washed gold,' Henry," the President wise-
cracked.

After that exchange, I continued with my story. No sooner,
I said, did Governor Black note the gold service than he slyly
slipped a fork into his trousers pocket. An attentive butler
immediately brought another, and this went the way of the
first one. Noticing the obvious pilfering, the Governor's
dinner partner became uneasy.

"Why, Governor Black," she exclaimed, "whatever are
you doing?"

The commotion attracted the President's attention. From
his place a few seats away he leaned forward, not wanting
to miss the clowning he knew his friend Gene was up to.

White House — via Mrs. Roosevelt 221

Solemnly the Governor turned from his table companion
and pointed at the President, who was now all eyes and ears.

"You see that man," Governor Black said accusingly. "He
took my gold, Well, now I'm taking his!"

When I finished, the President laughed heartily with the
others around the table.

During the ensuing conversation, the President recalled
an unfortunate remark that he had made at the 'possum
supper of 1930. Then governor of New York, and generally
recognized as a potential candidate for the Presidency, he
had publicly referred to New York City as "a sink of in-
iquity." It happened near the end of the evening, which had
been a merry one. Ostensibly politics was taboo. But as
toastmaster I could not completely ignore politics while read-
ing out such telegrams as "!F HE [Roosevelt] CONTINUES IN

THE REAL JEFFERSONIAN PRINCIPLES— HE MAY MAKE THE

REPUBLICAN 'COON COME DOWN IN 1932," from Bernard M.
Baruch.

Then followed some horseplay, which always delighted
Roosevelt. We had been talking about the Creek Indians and
Iroquois fraternizing at Warm Springs in the early iSoo's,
just as war whoops split the air when two of our number
dressed as braves burst in and scalped a guest who, by pre-
arrangement, was wearing a wig on his bald head.

However, the final incident that led directly to Roosevelt's
"iniquity" remark came just before he rose for an informal
address. It was then my pleasant duty to present to him a
large drawing by Lewis Gregg, famed cartoonist of The
Atlanta Constitution.

I solemnly claimed that our group originated during
feasts in the days of old Rome and had combined centuries
ago with the gypsies and the Creek Indians. Consequently,
our members still had the power to foretell the future. As

222 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

proof we would now reveal how our distinguished guest
might soon be appearing before his fellow countrymen. We
would even show him following in the footsteps of the Father
of Our Country, George Washington.

By then everyone felt sure the unveiling of Gregg's draw-
ing would tie into the Presidency, but as the picture was
unveiled, there was the Governor of New York cutting down
a persimmon tree in which old Br'er 'Possum had been cor-
nered—cutting down a persimmon tree instead of a cherry
tree!

This amusing turn caused Roosevelt to open with, "This
is the kind of party that really goes to my heart. If we could
cut out the banquets in that great sink of iniquity called
New York, I'd be happy."

The wire services had their representatives at the 'possum
supper in force, and they promptly reported the "sink of
iniquity" remark. This gave those in the East who opposed
the nomination of Governor Roosevelt for the Presidency a
chance to try to distort his humorous comment.

When Basil O'Connor, Roosevelt's law partner, saw the
first editions of the morning papers up East, he phoned
Roosevelt to urge that he get the matter straightened out
immediately, or an issue would be raised comparable to the
"Rum, Romanism, and Rebellion" charge flung at the
Democratic Party by Blaine's supporters during the Cleve-
land-Blaine campaign in 1884, only to backfire on Blaine.

Governor Roosevelt promptly called the Associated Press
in Atlanta and requested that I be told of his predicament
and asked to help. A reporter caught me on the phone at
home, and I dictated a new release. The A.P. manager oblig-
ingly killed the first version. The new one was to the effect
that Governor Roosevelt was using the phrase of others
unacquainted with the great city and, of course, did not him-

White House — via Mrs. Roosevelt 223

self mean to say that was his idea. Fortunately, the distortion
of the incident did not spread.

The foregoing is significant historically but has become
of more than passing interest to me. As I look back at it,
what Roosevelt then said about New York was not just a slip
of the tongue. It seems to me that in his mind there was
always a subconscious picture of swarming slums when he
thought of New York. While he did not consider the
metropolis itself a "sink of iniquity," he did know that such
a description suited much of its area.

The President, it appeared, was still somewhat uneasy
about what may have been the consequences of his indiscreet
remark. I hated to think what might have happened to our
country, and slum clearance in particular, if Roosevelt had
not won the election.

At the end of the dinner, we all went to the upper living
room, where a movie projector was already set up and an
operator at hand.

Portable chairs were in place, and the President beckoned
me to one at his side. Not once did his eyes leave the screen
as The World War against Slums told its graphic story of
the constant battles to cure the cancers of town and country
alike in Italy, Austria, Poland, Russia, Germany, Holland,
Great Britain, and America.

"No wonder you were impressed," he said to me, keeping
his eyes on the movie, "with what Italy has done. I had no
idea they had cleaned up so much of Naples and had tackled
such an immense reclamation job in the Pontine Marshes."
After a thoughtful pause, he spoke again. "I always said that
slum clearance kept Austria from Communism, but I never
saw these big projects before. No wonder they pleased the
people."

224 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

Then there was a long silence as the President studied the
movies, until we reached the section on Holland where a
close-up of an elderly woman in the housing for the aged
appeared on the screen. Her heavy jowls and deeply lined
face tempted me to observe that she wouldn't take a prize
in a beauty contest.

"Tut, tut!" the President snapped with family pride, "she
has a good, honest Dutch face!"

At the end of the film, Secretary Morgenthau, backed up
by his wife, dwelt at some length on the horrors of the alley
slums right there in Washington. With Mrs. Roosevelt, Mrs.
Morgenthau had been active in Washington slum-clearance
work.

"Yes, I know they are right at our door," the President
admitted. "You know, the next message I send to those
ninety-six senators on the Hill is going to be in movies. That
will really get results."

Both the President and the Secretary agreed that there was
no further need to convince them. They were solidly sold on
slum clearance. The trouble was no longer "at this end of
the Avenue," as the President put it, but at the other end,
that is, the Senate and the House of Representatives.

"But where is the money coming from to expand this pro-
gram?" The President glanced at Morgenthau, who in turn
looked at me.

"Well, there is one source," I replied. "That is through a
graduated tax such as you saw mentioned in the Austrian
project. You may recall it said that the tenants of the eighty-
six largest de luxe apartments in Vienna paid as much rent
tax as 350,000 workmen. In our country the residents of such
neighborhoods as Park Avenue could afford to chip in. In
fact, one penthouse dweller there told me he would be all
for it. Incidentally, the only thing in the New Deal this

White House — via Mrs. Roosevelt 225

Bourbon was for was slum clearance, and he accepted a
graduated rent tax as a sensible way to get the money 1"

"That's a new one on me," the President commented.

Secretary Morgenthau said he hadn't heard about it, either,
but it might have possibilities.

I then explained that a graduated rent tax based on ability
to pay, and averaging 5 per cent of America's $3,500,000,000
residential rent roll, would produce enough annual subsidy
to house three million families.

All paid strict attention, especially the President. The
silence as he turned over the idea of a rent tax in his mind
was broken by Mrs. Roosevelt.

"Mr. Palmer," she suggested, "please tell the President
about that FHA project in Atlanta."

I was at a loss to understand what she meant until she
explained that she was referring to Oak Knoll. An amazing
woman, she even remembered, in addition to Techwood and
University Homes, the little subdivision where my brother-
in-law, Richard Sawtell, and I were building houses of living
room, dining room, kitchen, and two bedrooms to sell for
$3,250. The payments of $25.50 a month included taxes and
insurance under the Government's FHA program.

The President quickly commented that payments were
about five dollars per room per month for purchase, or
materially less than most rents at that time. He was de-
lighted that private enterprise could provide good homes at
moderate rentals and wanted to know more. Would the Gov-
ernment's help in slum clearance interfere with such private
projects? I then brought out that the public-housing program
in Great Britain had helped materially to expand the opera-
tions of the Building Societies there while, without public
housing as a pace setter, the operations of private outfits in

226 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

America had contracted, despite the help our Government
gave through FHA.

While the movie operator was getting his apparatus out
of the way, the President told me to get in touch with Sec-
retary Mclntyre first thing the next morning. In the mean-
time he, the President, would figure out what the next step
should be. He said that he was now determined to break the
log jam in the Wagner bill, and he guessed that the best
way would be for me to work with Secretary Morgenthau.
But he wasn't quite sure. He would think it through that
night and leave a message for me with "Mac" in the morning.

Early the next morning, May 18, I was with Secretary
Mclntyre at the White House. Yes, "the Boss" had already
instructed him to make appointments for me with anyone I
thought might help. I mentioned Secretary Morgenthau, and
"Mac" said he'd fix it up.

No sooner said than done. In no time at all I found myself
in the Secretary's office at the Treasury Building. He called
in his administrative assistant, William H. McReynolds, to
handle the details. Now who did I think could work out
the kinks in the proposed housing law so Congress would
pass it? Would I do it myself? But it seemed to me better for
someone resident in Washington, and an official of the Gov-
ernment who had not taken sides, to handle the assignment.
Or, I suggested, maybe one individual primarily identified
with public housing, and another with private enterprise,
could collaborate. How about John Ihlder, of the Washing-
ton Alley Dwelling Authority, and Matt Daiger, of the Fed-
eral Reserve? Both were capable and knew their way around.
And both were soon hard at work.

On June 14, Daiger wrote that Wagner had been away
and "My understanding is that he has not had any confer-
ences on the Wagner Bill." The next day Ihlder wrote, "As

White House — via Mrs. Roosevelt 227

nearly as I can state it, the situation is this. All parties con-
cerned seem to be in an attitude of mind which would make
them hospitable to suggestions tending toward a reconcilia-
tion of points of view. The difficulty, however, seems to be as
to who shall take the first step. It is possible that you are the
one who could bring it about."

Back and forth went the negotiations between Atlanta
and Washington, and so did I. Major differences were ironed
out with members of Congress.

As usual, the President knew what he was doing. The
movie had helped enough with him and Morgenthau to
stimulate their action, working with Congressmen in their
own way, and helping us housers work in ours. August saw
final action by both Houses of Congress, and the President
signed the United States Housing Act of 1937 on September i
of that year.

21

MORE THAN
SHERMAN BURNED

AMERICAN THINKING, not unlike that of Ka-
gawa, came to me in August, 1937, from our oldest daughter,
Margaret. In her early teens, she had been greatly impressed
by "Prayer/* a poem of Louis Untermeyer's she had come
across while at camp in North Carolina, and sent home to us.

"Open my ears to music; let
Me thrill to Spring's first

flutes and drums—
But never let me dare forget
The bitter ballads of the slums." *

On September 15, a telegram came from Secretary of the
Interior Ickes for a Washington conference on the twentieth.
Now maybe there would be happier refrains than the "bitter
ballads" that had so sorely troubled our daughter.

At the meeting, after asking for advice and help from
those present, Ickes concluded by saying, "I can't see that
we are going to get very far in building up the right kind of
a civilization without low-cost housing, without giving the

* Louis Untermeyer, "Prayer," Modern American Poetry (New York: Har-
court, Brace and Company, Inc.).

228

More than Sherman Burned 229

people decent homes in which to live, and in which they can
afford to live."

On the whole, the conference served a useful purpose.
Many were heard while Ickes and his aides listened atten-
tively.

Through the leadership of the Atlanta Chamber of Com-
merce, the City Council had followed up its resolution of
March 15, 1937, urging passage of the Wagner Bill, with a
further resolution to establish a Housing Authority of five
members. At the time Mayor Hartsfield approved the petition
of the City Council to the National Congress, I mistakenly
thought we might at last get some housing leadership from
him. But when it came to local action, he dragged his feet
until he felt sure that at least 150 per cent of the voters wanted
him to do something. On September 24, the Mayor vetoed
the move to set up a local body. His comment was that
"Atlanta is not going to be a guinea pig in this matter."

This meant that we would have to arouse even wider and
more vocal citizen interest. We would have to prove to the
Mayor where the votes were.

Ever since I had been a boyhood guest for several days
of Edsel Ford and his parents in their Highland Park home,
he and I had kept in touch with each other. In recent years
I had piqued his curiosity about slum clearance. I wanted
the influence and foresight he and his father could bring to
the movement. In 1935 I had sent Edsel clippings and tran-
scripts of some of my lectures.

"Back in 1912," I wrote in my letter of transmittal," you
and your father told me that the automobile and good roads
would be the main sources of employment for our people
during the next twenty years. You were foresighted then,
and now I wonder if you have grasped, with equal celerity,
the full significance of the slum-clearance movement?"

230 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

More housing information was sent to Edsel from England
in July of that year, right after Sir Theodore Chambers had
suggested that the Fords could do a great good to the world
by building a model city. I had seen the Fords' Dagenham
Plant near Becontree, England. The size of that plant proved
that a new city for America was not beyond the capacity of
the Fords to conceive or to build. Its magnitude recalled the
breadth of Henry Ford's thinking. He had shared his thoughts
with Edsel and me; though we were still in high school, he
had treated us like men. I particularly remembered one
breakfast when Mr. Ford wanted to reminisce. Office hours
never mattered to Henry Ford. He sprawled in his chair while
his wife sat erect; he for comfort, not lazily, she naturally,
not in pretended dignity. Mrs. Ford's sweet smile and quiet
pride in husband and son went together.

Although it had not yet been made public, Henry Ford
told us at that breakfast of his plan for a minimum wage of
five dollars a day. That was a breath-taking announcement
and it rocked our nation's industrial leaders.

I also remember Mr. Ford telling us reflectively that he'd
had such a close call while night superintendent of the
Edison Company in Detroit that the Ford automobile might
never have been built. The man who relieved Mr. Ford at
the power plant early each day had caught barber's itch,
which made his face so tender that he could not shave him-
self. So Mr. Ford became a barber, pro tern. Tilting an old
kitchen chair against the brick wall of the engine room to
give the amateur razor wielder better light, Mr. Ford walked
back and forth between the chair and an open sink not far
away.

One morning, the shave over, the barber and his lone
customer had hardly stepped to the sink to wash up when
there was a sudden crash and a roar as though Doomsday

More than Sherman Burned 231

had come. The shaft of the fly-wheel of a two-story-high
reciprocating engine had snapped and as the wheel smashed
through the brick wall of the building, tons of steel crushed
the "barber chair" into kindling wood. A few seconds earlier
and that would have been the end of Henry Ford, and
America might not have taken to wheels so fast.

I had hoped father and son would put slum clearance on
wheels in 1938. They did a few apartments, but the big job,
a whole city, never caught on.

The Atlanta Chamber of Commerce brought Captain
Richard L. Reiss, noted British housing authority, to Atlanta
for a large civic luncheon on February 18, 1938. His remarks
were of some help in our drive to make the Atlanta City
Council "see the light."

"Public housing authorities do not interfere wtih private
enterprise," Reiss declared, and, "Government-financed pub-
lic housing saves money in the long run."

That was exactly what Atlantans needed to be reminded of.
They had heard it often enough, but locally the same old
crowd was still shouting "socialism." It took on a different
meaning when refuted by such a leading businessman as
Captain Reiss, who had helped to put Welwyn Garden City
on the map financially. And with Reginald S. Fleet, well-
known investment banker of Atlanta, presiding, no one could
claim that the luncheon was a "pink" affair. Especially so as
Fleet was acting in his capacity as Chairman of the Housing
and Town Planning Committee of the Chamber of Com-
merce of Atlanta, and doing yeoman service for public
housing.

The irony of the position in which Atlanta found herself
in March, 1938, came full force to me through what Captain
Reiss said about Tech wood: "Best public housing in Amer-
ica." The best and the first, as well. Surely my home town

232 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

was better prepared than any other city to hold her leader-
ship, now that public housing had been established as
national policy.

All Atlanta had to do was set up her Housing Authority.
The money was in Washington for the asking. But Mayor
Hartsfield's veto of the City Council's resolution had stymied
further action. Other southern cities, with funds from Wash-
ington, were beehives of activity. Many had gotten their
"how- to-do-it" from us. Apparently we didn't practice as well
as we preached. In our state of Georgia alone, Savannah,
Augusta, Columbus, Macon, and even little Athens, were
officially, legally, and effectively going ahead full steam with
public housing.

What else could we do to force action from the Mayor?
Time and federal funds were running out fast. Persuasion,
pleas and pressure had failed to sway Hartsfield. Then fate
took a hand.

On Sunday night, March 27, 1938, a batch of wretched
slum hovels caught fire, and just across the street Atlanta's
famed Grady Hospital came tragically close to being wiped
out. It was the greatest threat to the city since the conflagra-
tion of 1917. And the citizens remembered that slums were
to blame then, too.

When I reached the scene, the sky was red from the leap-
ing flames. Firemen struggled on the roof of the main hos-
pital building to extinguish the huge embers that rained
down from the thirty slum shacks, which were burning be-
yond control. While power lines fell and telephone poles
flared, streams of water were being played from the roof of
the nurses' home to save adjoining structures. Through the
bars of the venereal-disease building where prisoners were
treated, anguished faces stared helplessly at the rapidly ap-
proaching flames.

More than Sherman Burned 233

All but three of Atlanta's fire companies were on the job,
desperately fighting the spreading holocaust. Fire Chief
Parker and Police Chief Hornsby directed the work. Mayor
Hartsfield was there, too. He saw desperately ill patients
being caried from the hospital buildings on stretchers. He
saw flaming torches shoot into the sky and fall into the central
business area. He saw blocks of slums go up in smoke.

Luckily only three people were hurt. But Atlanta was
aroused at last. Newspapers were filled with the horror there
was and the much greater horror there might have been.

" 'Only luck and the valiant work of the fire department,' "
a paper reported the next morning, " 'kept Sunday's fire from
spreading into a wide conflagration/ said R. S. Hammond,
Chairman of the Fire Prevention Committee of the Chamber
of Commerce, as he urged today that the city take necessary
steps immediately to obtain government slum clearance funds
to rebuild the now smoldering area as a slum clearance project
'before other shacks spring up similar to those that burned,
gravely endangering Grady Hospital.' '

Another newspaper said:

"Mayor Hartsfield last night said he was not committed
either way on the possibility of a housing authority for
Atlanta. 'I have appointed a Council Committee to investi-
gate the matter.' "

So again I went into the newspapers with:

"The Chamber President pointed out that the Federal
government furnishes nine-tenths of the cost of each project,
with the local Housing Authority putting up the other tenth.
This amount, he said, might be in the form of streets, park-
ways, sewers, and other services which the city may have
already provided for."

Such factual arguments didn't mean much to closed politi-
cal minds. But the narrow escape of Grady Hospital from

234 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

total destruction—and perhaps the loss of many lives— was
having its effect. Atlantans were up in arms. So much so
that Hartsfield's committee began to realize that it was in a
hot spot and became even more evasive. Robert Carpenter,
its chairman, was always "out of the city" and the members
had "no comment."

We kept the heat on. But still no meeting of the committee,
and still the Mayor refused to commit himself. To smoke
them out, we had a resolution introduced into the Council
that instructed the Mayor to act, and had the resolution
referred to the Housing Committee. Then the committee was
forced to take action, and a public hearing was required.

Two more weeks went by, and finally the hearing was
held. Our side showed up in such force that we had the
committee pretty well whipped before the testimony began.
After all, what the politicians seemed to seek was proof that
they'd get more votes from the decent citizens who wanted
slums wiped out than they would lose from those predatory
persons who preyed upon slums.

Besides civic leaders, department heads of the city were
present. Fire Chief Parker testified, "We used to have one
call a day at least to the Techwood section, but since the
improvements were made we never get called down there."
Sanitary Chief Gates said the blighted areas were the centers
for the spread of disease; and City Parks Manager Simons
told of the juvenile delinquents found around park areas
near slums. Dewey Johnson, president of the Atlanta Fed-
eration of Trades, stated that "if we have one bit of feeling
for humanity, we shouldn't become reconciled to such con-
ditions."

It was such a good show that the committee could find no
out. But again undercover circumlocution set in. Alderman
J. Allen Couch, notorious for always being on the wrong side

More than Sherman Burned 235

of everything, maneuvered the city fathers into a still further
delay of two weeks by referring the ordinance to the Finance
Committee.

Over the weekend of May i, I had gone to Washington
to keep Atlanta's foot in the housing door because there was
a real likelihood that all the federal funds for housing would
be earmarked before we could legally qualify. My fears were
well founded. Nathan Straus, administrator of the United
States Housing Authority, told me on Sunday that alloca-
tions would be complete by June i, but that if we hurried
Atlanta might get between eight and fifteen million dollars.

While in Washington, I spoke by request at the annual
meeting of the Chamber of Commerce of the United States.
Back to mind came December 4, 1929, when I had sat in the
same Chamber Auditorium with a lot of these same business
and industrial leaders. We had heard President Hoover tell
us that things would be all right pretty soon. Then the whole
gang had wanted help, any kind of help at all. But Hoover
didn't provide it. Roosevelt did. And that help— though they
wouldn't admit it— had saved the skins of the carping speakers
who preceded me.

They were so much against our country's present leader-
ship that they were sitting ducks for an editorial I had re-
cently read, "The Againsters," which had just appeared in
the Waycross, Georgia, Journal-Herald: "The againster can-
not be against anything until somebody starts something. . . .
He hasn't the slightest idea what to do or what to think until
somebody starts something. . . . The againster never goes be-
yond being against "

So I sounded off. I said that being "for" instead of
"against" was really paying off down South, especially in
slum clearance. I pointed out that thirty-three cities in eleven

236 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

southeastern states already had $90,000,000 earmarked for
them, and were going out "for" more.

There wasn't much applause. The U.S. Chamber's staff
had tuned their instruments to a different key. But that was
not the key in which the Atlanta Chamber played. By being
"forsters" and striking up its own tune, our Chamber had
brought $9,000,000 to Atlanta for slum clearance. Why,
that was more than the total of all our building permits
during the past three years.

After I returned to Atlanta, there was every reason to
expect victory when our City Fathers met on May 18. Council
voted the authority, but one alderman, Roy Callaway, de-
cided to play the role of King Canute, and commanded the
tide to stand still by moving to reconsider. His action slowed
us up again.

But not for long. For some reason I never fathomed, the
following week Callaway withdrew his motion. This auto-
matically passed the buck to the Mayor. Maybe that's what
Callaway had in mind after finding the seat too hot for
himself.

The Mayor had been snowed under and began to shovel
his way out. He finally signed the measure and appointed a
banker, two businessmen, a labor leader, and me as chairman
of the Authority. We then got down to work in earnest.

The very next day two of us were off for Washington,
hoping we were not too late. "We don't know how much
money Atlanta will get for slum clearance and housing," I
told reporters, "but we hope the figure of between eight
and fifteen million will stand."

On July 2, the morning Constitution screamed in an eight-
column head across its front page: "$9,000,000 GIVEN TO
CITY TO CLEAR SLUMS" and "MAYOR IS ELATED/'

More than Sherman Burned 237

Even a mayor with Hartsfield's hindsight couldn't refuse that
kind of money.

By September we had 2,500 units under architectural con-
tract to be built in two white and two colored projects for
about 11,000 former slum dwellers. Over $3,000,000 was for
expansion of Tech wood. We named the new project Clark
Howell Homes, after the man who had helped so much in
the early days. Another $3,000,000 went for enlargement of
the University project. We called this John Hope Homes
because elderly John Hope had practically paid with his life
for it by sapping his meager strength during the early
fights on housing.

By year's end our funds from Washington had been in-
creased to about $15,000,000, and Grady Homes was added
to our housing program. It removed forever the threat of fire
from our public hospital. Capitol Homes, too, was under way,
wiping from the shadow of our State House the sorry shacks
that had lingered there for generations.

At long last Uncle Sam caught up with himself. When
General Sherman's Federal Troops were a bit careless with
fire in Atlanta in November, 1864, they burned 3,500 of the
4,000 structures then in the city. Federal funds replaced them
in full measure with 4,996 low-rent homes by 1940. After 76
years, Uncle Sam helped rebuild more than Sherman burned.

Between trips to Washington for Atlanta housing, other
chores were not being left undone. One was particularly
pleasant: to be a representative of the United States at the
sixteenth annual meeting of the International Federation
for Housing and Town Planning in Mexico City in August,
1938. Although Laura and I were involved in a train wreck,
we returned home none the worse for wear.

The wreck occurred near Queretaro when our crack south-

238 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

bound Sunshine Special drove head on into the northbound
Sunshine Special at 2:45 A.M., August 13. Five passengers
were instantly killed, and four of twelve injured died later.

My head was rammed into the wall of the upper berth.
The resulting stiff neck made me wonder why Pullmans
aren't made up feet first instead of head first. Thinking that
we were in a bandit holdup— there'd been one near that spot
the week before— I left my uninjured wife to investigate,
suggesting that she keep the drawing-room door locked. But
when I returned for my cameras as the sun came up, Laura
was nowhere around. Just as on our trips to Europe, she had
decided not to miss a thing in Mexico, either, and she didn't.

Blame for the mess was placed by some on the "Goldshirts,"
a subversive organization, in an attempt to discredit the op-
eration of the railroad by labor that had been in charge of
the roads for but a few months. Their hope was that the
wreck would cause an international incident, because there
were official representatives to the Congress on board from
England, Canada, Sweden, and the United States.

Certainly Great Britain would not have taken it lightly
if such distinguished British subjects on board as George
Pepler, president of the Federation, or Miss E. E. Halton,
its Honourable Secretary, had been injured. Their high
position in England was later confirmed by elevation to
knighthood because of outstanding leadership in housing
throughout the British Commonwealth and the world. They
are now married, and it is Sir George and Lady Pepler.

When we eventually arrived in Mexico City around mid-
night, I called the morning paper on the hunch that they
would develop my pictures of the wreck immediately in
exchange for their use. The hunch turned out to be a ten
strike for an amateur photographer. Within a few hours the

More than Sherman Burned 239

newspaper Excelsior, El Periodico de la Vida Nacional was
on the streets with four enlargements of my snapshots on
the first page with the credit line: Fotos Cortesia del Sr. C. F.
Palmer.

One of our first trips was to the salt-sea reclamation at
Texcoco. There housing again proved to be much the same
the world over. Where the Mexican Government had re-
habilitated 24,000 acres and done much new building, they
had used the same basic methods as the Italians in the Pontine
Marshes and the Dutch in the Zuider Zee projects.

Later, Housing Chief Carlos Contreras took us through
public-housing projects in Mexico City, where we found that
he had kept out all frills. Adobe construction was used and
well used. Sanitary facilities were adequate and far above
the Mexican average. Charcoal stoves were standard equip-
ment, and welcomed by the former slum dwellers as much
better than any cooking arrangements they'd previously had.

During this Mexican trip a challenging idea that came
to me was the chance for the nations of North and South
America to work together on housing. I found such ready
understanding in this field with the delegates from south of
our border that housing seemed an Esperanto worth expand-
ing. And so on my return to the States I included the sugges-
tion—that Uncle Sam take the lead in setting up a North
American— South American Housing Axis— in the confidential
report I made to Alexander V. Dye, director, and N. H. Engle,
assistant director, Bureau of Foreign and Domestic Com-
merce of the United States.

Public housing in New Orleans was going ahead by mid-
fall, but some "arousements" were needed so businessmen
would understand the movement better. William J. Guste,

240 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

chairman, Members Council, New Orleans Association of
Commerce, asked me to undertake the job. I accepted and
made a talk on October 6 called "The Businessman and
Subsidized Housing." The top leaders of New Orleans were
at the meeting. Here is part of what The Times-Picayune
reported the next day:

"Mr. Palmer said, 'In Atlanta, where the first public
housing project in this country has been completed, we found
that every individual in the slum areas was costing the
government $33 more than was collected from the areas in
taxes. Since 60,000 people in Atlanta are inadequately housed,
this represents a subsidy to the slums of $2,000,000, enough
to amortize the investment and pay the interest on $50,000,000
worth of homes and decent apartments. We figure it is better
business to subsidize housing than to subsidize slums. As
slums are eradicated, insurance rates and police and health
expenditures go down and property values go up.' '

Colonel L. Kemper Williams, leading New Orleans busi-
nessman and chairman of the Housing Authority, felt that
others of his fellow citizens should hear similar arguments
from the same source. And so on November 7 I found myself
back in New Orleans as the principal speaker at the kickoff
dinner of the 1939 Community Chest Campaign. The over
eight hundred men and women present formed a true cross
section of the city. Fifty-five agencies, many of which worked
in slums, participated in the program.

"Would you know," I said in part, "where your slums are?
Then place a pin on the map for each person helped through
the Community Chest. The pattern will accurately trace the
slums. . . . An atheist once said, 'If I were God I would have
made health contagious, not disease.' But that was not God's
plan. He so designed this scheme of things that we must

More than Sherman Burned 241

show our spirit by fighting disease and vice ourselves. . . .
With the projects your New Orleans Housing Authority has
so well devised, and the great accomplishments of your
Community Chest, you have twin movements, invaluable to
each other and both preventatives."

22

ON OCTOBER 11-14, 193%> the sixth annual meet-
ing of the National Association of Housing Officials was held
in Washington. Scheduled to handle a phase of the program,
I attended the meeting but was called back to Atlanta before
I was able to do much.

The NAHO was now paying more attention to operating
and administrative problems than to Federal legislation. So
much so that the increasing threat of war in Europe— which
could upset our slum-clearance program overnight— was all
but lost sight of.

As early as October, 1936, I had accepted the inevitability
of a major catastrophe. War was in the air throughout the
trip abroad that summer. And on my return I said so to the
newspapermen.

Great Britain had to curtail her housing program. War for
Europe seemed just around the corner in the fall of 1938.
When it came, who would be so foolish in America as to
think that we could stay out of it? Or that slum clearance and
housing would escape necessary cuts?

I got so steamed up that I tried to devise a program for
housing so closely related to war that it would be part and
parcel of preparedness. Others didn't see eye to eye with me.

242

T.N.T. 243

War for the U.S. seemed far away to them, especially to
Nathan Straus, the USHA administrator, the man most re-
sponsible for keeping our slum-clearance program rolling.
Nevertheless, I felt that something had to be done— and fast.

Taking Trystan Edwards's Hundred New Towns for Brit-
ain as a base, I outlined how we could build Twenty New
Towns (T.N.T.) for America, all of them convertible into
troop cantonments. I airmailed a r&ume" to Straus in Sep-
tember, 1938. In it I said that we should be prepared to con-
vert slum-clearance housing into a war industry so that it
would have priority for labor and materials, additional appro-
priations, and federal condemnation in land acquisition. It
could, I said, justify classification as a war industry because the
projects would replace cantonments pending use for perma-
nent housing; the investment would not be lost as with
barracks; and speed could be obtained by mass production.

Richard Bauer, who had designed Leopoldau and other
new towns in Austria, collaborated on the layouts. He had
fled from the Nazis, so I had just brought him and his wife
to America, where he settled as a practicing architect in
Atlanta.

Straus was so far from realistic about impending war,
despite the fact that he was trying for legislation to give slum
clearance $800,000,000 more, that I was unable to arrange a
face-to-face conference with him. He did nothing about my
letter, as far as I know, and subsequent prodding, week after
week, got nowhere. It was the same old merry-go-round, so
I decided to try the White House again.

In November I wrote to Mrs. Roosevelt, who was at the
Little White House with the President at the time. After
explaining the situation, I said that I would be happy to come
to Warm Springs to discuss the matter, or I could present it
in Washington the following month since Laura and I had

244 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

accepted with delight an invitation to the Cabinet dinner at
the White House on December 13.

Mrs. Roosevelt replied promptly and with understanding
to the idea of tying housing to war, and suggested that I
draw up a memorandum that she could give to the President.
In it I briefly outlined T.N.T., as I had to Straus. I also
pointed out that it would ensure constant federal control of
immediate accommodations for one million recruits. Finally,
it would eliminate loss from abandonment of cantonments
and save the Twenty Towns as housing assets.

There was naturally no opportunity to talk housing with
the President or Mrs. Roosevelt at the Cabinet dinner as there
were eighty-six guests beside ourselves. But there was the
chance to discuss the University Homes project for Negroes
near Atlanta's colored university with John D. Rockefeller,
Jr. One of its colleges had been made possible through Rocke-
feller grants and was called Spelman, the maiden name of
Mr. Rockefeller's mother.

We were introduced in the East Room before going to
dinner in the State Dining Room. I was startled when I met
Mr. Rockefeller, as published pictures had given me the
impression that he was a tall man. That massive head, it had
seemed to me, would need at least six-feet-two to carry it.
But I discovered that he was well below my own height, and
I'm only five seven. But that was fine with me as it enabled
me to look directly into his clear-blue, kindly eyes. They
flashed with interest as soon as John Hope was mentioned.

Yes, he agreed, it was a miracle that Beavers' Slide had been
replaced with University Homes. With such slums wiped out,
more money for the university was justified. We were going
to keep up slum clearance, weren't we?

That's exactly what we intended, I assured Mr. Rocke-
feller, but it wasn't easy. However, we had tentative plans

T.N.T. 245

for expansion of University Homes with a project of 600 units
to be named for Dr. John Hope. That news delighted him,
and he asked many pertinent questions before we went into
dinner. Such influential supporters were altogether too few
and far apart.

Parenthetically, I had enough foresight not to talk housing
with my wife's dinner partner, that rugged Bourbon, old
Joe Patterson, publisher of the New York Daily News. He
frankly admitted it was his first trip to the White House, that
he hadn't the slightest idea why he was asked, and he felt like
a fish out of water. Then he proudly exhibited the white
gloves he was wearing. He had hurt his hand and felt that the
bruise was unsightly, so that afternoon he'd bought a pair
of ordinary workman's gloves to cover up the injury. Al-
though all the men present were wearing white ties, Colonel
Joe was the only one with white gloves, and very likely the
only guest ever to wear workman's gloves at a formal state
dinner in the White House.

When Laura and I lunched with Mrs. Roosevelt in the
family dining room of the White House the next day, she
said that she had gone into the proposal for Twenty New
Towns and would circulate my memo to the various Cabinet
members concerned with such a project: the Secretaries of
Treasury, War, and Agriculture. Mrs. Roosevelt said she ex-
pected that the memo would make the rounds and be back
in her hands with comments by mid-January.

But when the replies did come back, it wasn't January but
June. And upon reviewing them I found that they all used
a common approach: how not to do it.

Surely, there were problems. But taken one by one, every
objection raised by the three Cabinet members could be
met. The need was for someone who would seek "how to do
it," and not gum up the works while the plan was still only

246 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

on paper. Just as with the Housing Act of 1937, that meant
the President.

Meanwhile, I wrote to Mrs. Roosevelt's secretary, Miss
Thompson, that the objections raised to the idea of Twenty
New Towns had been foreseen and could be answered
through a movie I had.

Just four days after I made the offer to send the films,
Mrs. Roosevelt replied that she was much interested and
would let me know later when and where to send them. In
November, learning that she and the President would be in
Georgia later in the month, I suggested bringing the movies
to Warm Springs and mentioned that it would also give me
an opportunity to discuss with the President how Twenty
New Towns, convertible into cantonments, could be an ace
in the hole if Congress refused the additional $800,000,000
for USHA.

The Roosevelts, however, didn't have a chance to see
the movies while in Georgia. So T.N.T., the Twenty New
Towns, just petered out, as also did the USHA request for
$800,000,000. They were both buried in an unmarked grave
as our nation girded for war.

I kept on making speeches on housing a couple of times a
week all over the place. I also wrote articles on the subject
for various periodicals. Although slum clearance was being
shunted aside for more urgent military preparations, I still
didn't believe in letting sleeping dogs lie.

At the National Public Housing Conference in New York
the following January, Mayor LaGuardia spoke on "Housing,
the City's First Duty," and others of such prominence as
Marquis Childs carried the ball for housing, too. My subject
had to do with operating the projects.

This gave me a long-wanted opening to say in public what
I had been saying to USHA month after month in Washing-

T.N.T. 247

ton: that projects were being designed with too high a
standard. The down-to-earth jobs I had seen in England with
the sitting-bath-laundry-tub-table-combination and "back-to-
back" stoves had proved I was right. The Associated Press
quoted me as saying:

"Given too much, the former slum dweller lacks the incen-
tive to climb above housing. Furthermore, semi-luxuries will
kill public housing because the group of middle-class voters
will rightly oppose any movement which gives conveniences
to the lower one-third which those who furnish the subsidies
do not have themselves. Only such dwellings can be built at
subsidies which the voters will support, and operated at rents
those now ill-housed can afford to pay."

The lavish facilities being provided in some projects, and
the high maintenance costs certain to follow, alarmed me be-
cause such design could discredit the entire slum-clearance
movement. Also the lower the operating costs, the less sub-
sidy per dwelling needed; consequently, more dwellings could
be built. That the simple, economical type of design I sug-
gested was long past due was confirmed by a report made to
the National Association of Housing Officials later that year:

"First Houses, an early project in New York," it read "has
not only been the object of criticism, but has also been wil-
fully damaged by neighbors of the same economic group as
the tenants, and even those somewhat above it. Although
this was reported to represent an effective demand for housing
within the very group which should be interested, some
participants in the discussion saw in the attitude effective
opposition in the process of creation; and possibly a warning
against too much of a contrast in standards between new and
existing housing."

The need for realism continued to be equally pressing in
the National Association of Building Owners and Managers,

248 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

with this difference: the Public Housers wanted to go too
far, while the Building Owners didn't want to go at all. But
I felt that I shouldn't push either group too hard. The Atlanta
Chamber of Commerce had finally caught on, and I was sure
that BOMA would finally see the light. As I've previously
mentioned, many of its members were already leaders in local
Housing Authorities. And the extremists of N.P.H.C. would
very likely settle down one day. That's how democracy
usually worked. At least, our public officials were catching
on, as indicated by the forthright statement in the May 7
issue of The Atlanta Constitution by Garland Watkins, judge
of our Juvenile Court for many years:

"In certain sections of the city, five to ten families live in

houses formerly inhabited by one family Many slum

sections are owned by Atlantans who do not realize how
terrible the conditions are. The thought has not occurred to
them that sickness, disease and unhappiness are so prevalent
on their properties, or possibly they do not realize their own

interests are at stake in improving existing situations

Without the steps now being taken by the Atlanta Housing
Authority, we could expect tragic and serious consequences,
vitally effecting the lives of every man, woman and child in
the city."

Among the "steps now being taken" was an especially well-
thought-through and carefully planned project to solve, once
and for all, the slum problem between Hunter Street and
West View Drive, where whites and colored frequently
clashed in their overcrowded and intermingled dwellings.
In this border area, women had been raped, houses burned,
and bombs thrown. To relieve this congestion was virtually
a matter of life and death.

There were, fortunately, fifty-six acres of almost vacant
land available nearby. The site was close to Booker T. Wash-

T.N.T. 249

ington High School, the largest and best equipped school for
Negroes, and not far from Atlanta University. The whole
area, with its playgrounds, athletic fields, a library, and day
nurseries, was the best colored neighborhood in the city.

Along West View Drive, where pressure from the slums
was forcing Negroes into a well-established neighborhood of
whites, our project called for a green belt several hundred
feet wide. There were to be 1,200 dwellings, many times the
number then on the site, additional playing fields, an amphi-
theater, and as many more community facilities as required.

The Atlanta Housing Authority allocated $3,500,000 for
the job from the $16,000,000 then available to Atlanta, and
announced that the development would be named John
Eagan Homes in honor of a great Atlanta capitalist. Before
his death, Mr. Eagan had founded the Juvenile Court. He
was a distinguished philanthropist and had led in establish-
ing, with many other white and colored leaders, the Com-
mittee on Inter-Racial Relationships. This committee had
settled innumerable conflicts between the races and had pre-
vented many more throughout the South.

No sooner did our Housing Authority announce the John
Eagan Homes, which we thought would make everybody
happy, than an avalanche of protests fell upon us. Many white
residents across West View Drive were incensed because the
project would increase the number of Negro families in that
section of the city. They ignored the green belt which would
make John Eagan Homes a self-contained community. So
much hysteria was stimulated among normally reasonable
citizens that we wondered who was misrepresenting our
plans. Roundabout threats began to reach me. They seemed
to have a Ku-Klux Klan origin.

A mass meeting was called for May 9, 1939, by the "amis"
at the Joel Chandler Harris High School, three blocks from

250 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

West View Drive. To be sure that all parties would have a
chance to get the facts and say their say, the Housing
Authority postponed the bid-letting for the project.

It was a sad commentary that the mass meeting, packed
by prejudiced people unwilling to examine the project dis-
passionately, should be held in Joel Chandler Harris High
School, named for the beloved author of the Uncle Remus
stories. This school, which honored the man who knew the
Negro best and who treated him with the greatest justice,
was to be the sounding board for those who were too blind
to see the right.

Mayor Hartsfield attended and, as usual, straddled his
rocking horse. Apparently Bill was being scorched by politi-
cal heat again. But all those who were neither in politics nor
emotionally involved agreed that the project was a sensible
solution to the harassing problem.

The Housing Authority refused to be sidetracked, and so
another meeting was called for May 30 at the same place. Not
having been asked to the first meeting, I fished for a bid to
the second one. It came in a roundabout way, coupled with
the caution that maybe I'd better stay away. But I was deter-
mined to attend. However, Laura cautioned me that discre-
tion is the better part of valor, so— just in case— I took along
the assistant executive director of our Housing Authority,
James H. Therrell, whose six-feet-four towered over my
modest height. I earnestly believed that if my fellow At-
lantans heard how far ahead we were planning and gave me
a chance to answer their questions, many of them would
come over to our side.

When Jim and I arrived, the school was packed, and hun-
dreds had overflowed into the playgrounds outside where
loud-speakers had been set up. We elbowed our way through
the crowd and took positions near the rostrum.

T.N.T. 251

Fred Ernest, a resident of the area, told the group that
seven hundred neighbors had signed petitions in favor of
the housing. He expressed the opinion that the entire
locality would grow steadily worse unless the projects
materialized.

Ernest and I argued the merits of the case while those
against took the position that even if we convinced them,
they still would be "agin" it and would keep on fighting.
When the time came for questions, none were asked from
the floor. Obviously the crowd were so set in their notions
that they didn't want to hear the answers. So the meeting
adjourned after appointing a committee to "investigate the
legal aspects."

Jim and I stayed for a while, and a not too unfriendly
group gathered around us. A few asked intelligent questions,
and our replies apparently satisfied them. Finally we eased
out of the school and headed through the throng still loiter-
ing on the playground. As we entered our car and Jim started
the motor, one of several husky men who I had noticed kept
near us throughout the evening stuck his head through the
open window. "We're plain-clothes men from the Police
Department," he whispered. "Sure glad you're getting out of
here at last."

In one way our harassing experience was worth while. It
brought out the great truth that public projects are only as
good as their citizen acceptance. The meeting convinced us
that the people of that neighborhood were firmly determined
not to accept John Eagan Homes, regardless of its merits. So
we switched the funds to another part of the city, much to the
later regret of many who had opposed us.

If this experience had been the rule rather than the ex-
ception, we would have been deeply discouraged. Fortunately,
however, we were finding just the opposite reaction from the

252 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

public at large. The acclaim that was generally given to our
first annual report, published in November, 1939, proved
that housing in Atlanta had come of age.

A great deal of thought and care had gone into the prepara-
tion of the report. Air views of the slums to be cleared were
accompanied by maps spotting every shack to be wrecked.
Superimposed on each map was a transparent overlay that
showed how each slum neighborhood would look when trans-
formed into "decent, safe, and sanitary housing." Companion
photographs gave graphic views of the squalor and conges-
tion that would soon disappear forever. The text, written by
Philip Weltner, executive director of the Housing Authority,
did an excellent job, too.

Acceptance by public officials was quoted in the report. It
was led off by Mayor Hartsfield, who said, "We cannot blame
the poor but the poor can blame us if with our Housing
Authority we do not promptly improve conditions." The
Mayor, of all people, was now on our side.

A friend once said to me that anything has to be really
good if you are going to give it away. Not just reasonably
good, but mighty good. The Housing Authority Report,
which was distributed free, seemed to me to meet that re-
quirement so well that I shared it widely with conservatives
and liberals alike. The comments we received were most
encouraging.

From Thomas I. Parkinson, president, the Equitable Life
Assurance Society of the United States: "I take off my hat to
you and your colleagues for your performance." That was
quite a contrast to the position taken by insurance-company
presidents in the first days of public housing.

From John D. Rockefeller, Jr.: "Sets forth so vividly and
satisfactorily what you are doing. I congratulate you on such
a comprehensive program."

T.N.T. 253

From Henry Grady, Jr., investment banker of Atlanta: "It
always struck me that this is a wonderful work. If my grand-
father were alive, he would feel the same way."

From Edsel Ford: "A most progressive attitude towards
cleaning out some of the blighted areas in your city. . . . We
have twelve or fifteen apartments and terraces open for occu-
pancy and are about ready to start on a sample individual
house project before going ahead on a large scale." At last
the Fords were catching on in a big way, not only accepting
public housing but also using their Foundation Funds to
build white-collar projects themselves.

From Lewis H. Brown, president, Johns-Mansville Cor-
poration: "An amazingly interesting Annual Report. I am
sure that every dollar expended under your Authority has
been well spent."

From Catherine Bauer, one of the Washington old-time
housers: "I shall use it for a primary document in my housing
courses at the University of California next semester." To
which I replied: "Our local schools are using 600 copies as
textbooks."

What Herbert U. Nelson, executive vice-president of the
National Association of Real Estate Boards, wrote had to be
taken with a grain of salt: "I like the name of this report
which indicates the real scope of the efforts taken in so many
cities." He might have added: "In spite of all I have done to
try to prevent such efforts." Then Herb went on, "I have
admired the constructive way you have proceeded in spite
of what must have been irksome criticism at times." Again
Herb could have added, "Criticism that I helped to foster."
I wished that his next comment could have been taken at
its face value: "My own feeling has always been that property
owners and real estate men should take a constructive and
active part and not let prejudices stand in the way." Here

254 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

Herb should have added, "Although I have done all I could
to stop them."

The reaction of Atlanta newspapers brought out new
angles. The Journal of Labor referred to the job that faced
our forebears in rebuilding Atlanta in 1865 after its destruc-
tion during the Civil War and said:

"Now we have before us a picture of a second rebuilding
of Atlanta: the ambitious program of the Housing Authority
for the elimination of our slum areas. Some will say, 'It's all
right in theory and would be a mighty fine thing if we only
had the money.' Suppose that in 1865 our fathers had made
the same comment? Where would Atlanta have been today?
Would it be too much to ask that we look forward a half-
century and ask ourselves the same question? This picture
by the Housing Authority is going to stand. The future will
look back to it. As the next generation does so, will it be able
to say, 'This is what our fathers planned and did,' or will
they have to say, 'This is what our fathers might have done
but didn't' "?

The most prolonged exchange was with Bruce Barton, then
a Republican member of Congress from New York. We had
met in Atlanta some years before. Bruce wrote saying:

"All of us agree on the desirability of better housing, but
the Republicans argued, first, that this is not low-priced
housing, second, that the program we are pursuing was at-
tempted by England and abandoned on the ground that it
would wreck the English treasury and, third, that subsidized
slum clearance would plunge us into a debt of astronomical
proportions. To what extent do you regard these criticisms
as justified, and what position could the Republican Party
take that would enable it to support slum clearance and yet
not threaten the solvency of the nation?"

I let Bruce have both barrels in a twelve-page reply. Our

T.N.T. 255

family had just gone through the greatest Atlanta premiere
of all time, with our eldest daughter, Margaret, chosen to lead
the gala grand march. "Now," I wrote Bruce, "that Gone
with the Wind has reduced the emotions of Atlantans to ashes
as surely as Sherman did its buildings, let's resume where we
left off on housing." Then the pros and cons marched by in
review, page after page, each nailed down with the facts.

I summed up with:

"Have I helped answer the criticisms? If so, the conclusion
is clear. Go after the Democrats the way Sir Arthur Hender-
son did the London County Council! He yelled, 'A million
and a half still live in slums!' and unseated the party in power,
although it was doing a good job just as is true of U.S.H.A.
That's what the Republican Party should do. It's smart
politics, but it's more. It is good business, but it is more. It
is sound sociology. And the voters are for it. How do I know?
First, by showing my movies all over the place. Regularly the
old Tories come up to me afterwards and say, 'Why the
devil doesn't Roosevelt do more housing and slum clearance?
I'd be for that in a big way.' And as for the Liberals, they are
'pro,' of course. Secondly, look how housing authorities are
sprouting across the country, proving that the man in the
street is for them. There's the answer, Bruce. Go the Demo-
crats one better. Political history of the older countries
proves me right. Housing no longer is an issue; everybody's
on board the band wagon. So if eventually, why not now?"

Bruce replied that I had given him a different picture of
housing, and he was beginning to feel that if and when the
Republican Party came into power, "we ought to give the
matter very serious attention."

Would the Republicans act on what seemed to be Bruce
Barton's conversion? Not by a long shot! A paper, "A Pro-
gram for Dynamic America," later published by the Republi-

256 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

can Program Committee, summed up their position in no
uncertain terms: "It is simply out of the question to solve
the total housing program, or any part of it, through govern-
ment appropriations."

Oh, well, I thought, dead-end streets had been traveled be-
fore. There are lots of them in slums.

I hesitated to share the Atlanta report with housing
leaders overseas. The war had completely halted their slum-
clearance programs, and it seemed untimely to call their at-
tention to how well ours was doing. However, I did send a
few copies to England and the Continent, despite the fact
that Mars, the god of war, had trampled with his iron-shod
boots all over their public housing.

My old friend John Wrigley, of the Overcrowding Law,
had just moved several hundred thousand children from the
bombed cities of Britain to the protection of the country. A
lump came into my throat as I read the letter from him say-
ing "Your report fills me with a certain feeling of homesick-
ness. We have had a busy time over the evacuation scheme."
What a master of understatement he was!

No, there would be no more normal slum clearance while
Mars was loose in the world. He was an indiscriminate de-
stroyer of good and evil, while slum clearance destroyed only
that which was bad and replaced it with the good.

23

NO END TO
ADVENTURE

WE WERE sitting on the terrace of our cottage at
Warm Springs, Laura and I. From our vantage point on Pine
Mountain, Georgia, we overlooked miles of peach orchards
in the valley below. Nearby was Franklin Roosevelt's Little
White House and the Polio Foundation. A breeze swishing
to and fro through the long-leaf pines was like a surf on a
shore far away. The clouds on the distant horizon shimmered
in the manifold hues of the afterglow as the sun sank behind
us. It was a Sunday in June, 1955. I put down the manu-
script of my book and took a deep breath as I filled my pipe.

"Is that sigh," Laura asked, "because the book is done?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, darlin'. Just look
at all this unused material." I glanced at a particularly formi-
dable stack of notes and clippings. "Why, the last chapter has
just brought us up to the war."

"Every book has an ending," Laura quietly remarked.

"But not the housing of humanity," I reminded her. "That
is as much a problem today as it was when we first tackled
it nearly a quarter-century ago."

"Some progress has been made, though."

"Not too much in our country, I'm afraid. We're still way
behind Europe."

257

258 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

"Well the groundwork has been laid," Laura said. "The
homes in Techwood look as fresh and clean, the grass is as
green as when President Roosevelt dedicated them in 1935.
And we have the federal housing law on which you worked
so hard. What are the latest figures?" I read from my notes.
' 'Over 400,000 needy families are now provided for through
900 Public Housing Authorities.'

"But that's mighty little," I continued, "compared with
the great need. However, there have been worth-while by-
products. We've made some influential converts. Just listen
to this." I picked up a news item from The Atlanta Journal,
dated September 9, 1949. "Governor Herman Talmadge has
put his stamp of approval on new federal legislation for slum
clearance. He told members of the Georgia Association of
Housing Authorities that it was 'the best investment we can
make for democracy. . . . Right here in Atlanta we see com-
munistic organizations located in the heart of the slum sec-
tions. They hope to find a fertile field for their insidious
doctrines.' '

"That's a lot of progress," I added, "since Herman's father
allowed that 'slums are good for people.' But then, Herman
is open-minded and has had the opportunity to see the re-
sults of slum clearance over the years. Eugene Talmadge
wasn't that fortunate."

"Old Gene was a colorful character," Laura said with a
reflective smile.

"And here's another convert." I read a dispatch from New
Orleans to the Journal, dated November 30, 1953. "HARTS-
FIELD SCOFFS AT CRIES OF SOCIALISM IN HOUS-
ING. More than 1,000 mayors and city officials opened the
annual convention of the American Municipal Association
Monday. Atlanta's Mayor Hartsfield, President of the Asso-
ciation, scoffed at calling public housing 'creeping socialism.'

No End to Adventure 259

'Everything a city does,' he said, 'is a form of socialism. For
a lot of people their definition of creeping socialism is what
the government does for other people. If the real estate and
mortgage people get loans from the government, it's not
socialism. But if the government helps the little man, then
it is.' "

"Bravo for our mayorl" Laura exclaimed.

"That Bill and Herman at last spoke out," I said, "means
that public housing has arrived. Each keeps an ear toward the
voters so both heard the swelling chorus of citizen support.
Unfortunately, a lot of other public officials haven't caught
on yet. They are still listening to attacks by the National
Association of Real Estate Boards, such as Herb Nelson
started years ago when he was executive director.

"Here's the resolution the board adopted at its annual con-
vention just last November. 'Public housing is un-American.
We deplore the continuing evil of government ownership
and government subsidy of family shelter. We urge the Con-
gress to terminate the public housing program, and we call
upon the states and communities to proceed toward the
orderly liquidation of existing public housing projects and
their transfer to full tax-paying private ownership, preferably
to the tenants of such projects.'

"The last part of that resolution would be comic if it
wasn't so tragic," I said. "It's ludicrous that businessmen
would urge the sale of public housing to its occupants, who
can only qualify as tenants by proving such low incomes that
they must have subsidy. In other words, they must convince
the authorities that their earnings are so meager they can't
feed and clothe their families and still have enough left to
pay the level of rent that private capital must charge to secure
an adequate return on the cost of decent housing. How can

260 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

such unfortunates buy when they can't even pay an economic
rent?"

"Your question answers itself," Laura replied. "But surely
not all members of the Real Estate Board agree with such
nonsense, do they?"

"Of course not," I declared. "But the many of the board
who know we are on the right track have been too indifferent
to take up the cudgels in our support. Instead they have side-
stepped. They've let the minority misrepresent them. That's
the tragedy of it."

Laura reduced my rising steam pressure with a smiling
thrust that my real-estate colleagues and their resolution were
as ridiculous as the Russians with their dining-car menu.

"As far as absurdity goes, you're right," I agreed. "But our
real-estate crowd isn't usually so mixed up while the Russians
seem to make a habit of confusion."

Absent-mindedly I tamped and relighted my pipe. Then
I glimpsed the signature of a letter among the papers on the
table. It was from D wight D. Eisenhower. "Well anyway,
darlin', the top man in our country thinks straight about the
problem and has put himself on record." I read from what
he wrote me in 1949. " 'Most heartily I agree with you that
slum clearance is vital to the well-being of the United
States.' What he then wrote as president of Columbia Uni-
versity, he reaffirmed as President of the United States. In
his 1954 message to Congress, he laid it on the line. Let's see
if I can find the clipping. Here it is. 'Millions of our people

still live in slums The national interest demands the

elimination of slum conditions and the rehabilitation of de-
clining neighborhoods.'

"Those are strong words and still mighty true. Why right
now, according to the latest statistics, there are six million
families— about twenty-four million people— living in Ameri-

No End to Adventure 261

can slums. We have the knowledge and the means to pretty
well lick that problem during the next ten years. It means
building and subsidizing six hundred thousand units annu-
ally, a relatively small program compared with what the
Dutch accomplished. But did President Eisenhower ask for
that many units? No, he recommended a trickle of thirty-
five thousand a year for the next four years. Not because he
doesn't know that 'slum clearance is vital' and that 'the
national interest demands the elimination of slum condi-
tions.' It was simply because the minority who oppose low-
rent housing are better organized and more vocal with
congressmen and senators than the majority who favor it.

"Probably the President decided not to ask for what he
knew he couldn't get unless he put up a hard fight. That fight
he was evidently disinclined to make without the backing of
his own party, which he didn't have and couldn't get without
using a sledge hammer on the stone wall of its opposition.
Bruce Barton must have bumped his head against that same
wall in 1940, when he seemed to be converted to slum clear-
ance as a policy for the Republican Party. At least nothing
ever came of Bruce's conversion."

"So what?" Laura inquired. It was our family's signal to
sum up, taken from a book on public speaking I had read
years ago which declared that every audience went through
four stages of listening: (i) Ho-Hum; (2) Why Bring That
Up?; (3) For Example; (4) So What?

"I don't believe I know the answer, darlin'," I replied. "If
you mean, do I intend to keep on adding more chapters, then
maybe the answer is 'No,' because, as you say, every book has
to end. But if your question is about fighting slums and con-
tinuing to study them, wherever they may be throughout
the world, what else would you have me do?"

"I wouldn't have you otherwise," Laura said with a smile.

262 Adventures of a Slum Fighter

"After all, the fight won't end with the last page of the book,
any more than our roaming will. And that's just the way I
like it. Particularly our flight to most of the countries of
Latin America in 1952. Remember our disgust at Evita's
prostitution of public housing for the poor in Buenos Aires
by overdoing it with apartments that even included crystal
chandeliers? And our delight with the common-sense housing
that Sefiora Gonzalez Videla, wife of the President of Chile,
showed us she had built in Santiago? I guess, dear, that fight-
ing slums is to be a never-ending adventure for us both. The
problem is world-wide."

"And upon its solution," I added thoughtfully, "much of
the future of mankind depends."

As we talked, the sun had set and the hills across the valley
were now wrapped in the deep-blue haze of evening. Dimly
against the sky I could distinguish the silhouette of my
favorite pine. There it stood. The outline of its grotesque
limbs, tortured by years of battle against its every foe, would
have been disheartening, had not the age-old triumph of that
wind-swept tree transcended all else.

INDEX

Abercrombie, Professor Patrick, 172
Aberdeen, rent strikes in, 187-188
Aberdeen, Lady, 171
Accessories:

in Austria, 65

in Buenos Aires, 262

in Italy, 36-39, 50-51, 87

in Russia, 75-76
Across the Death Line, 140
Adams, Franklin Pierce, 219
"Againsters, The," 235
Aged, dwellings for, 185-186
Albergo Popolare, 52
Alfred, Miss Helen, 122
Alice, H. R. H. Princess, 171
Allievi, Antonio, 45
Allievi, Lorenzo, 43, 44-49, 94
American Booksellers' Association, 16
American Construction Council, 117
American Institute of Architects, 105,

123

American Radiator Company, 82
Amies, Captain, 168-170, 176, 195
Amsterdam, Holland, 198
Amtorg Corporation, 76
Amulree, Right Honorable Lord, 90
Amulree Committee, 107, 117
Angeloni, Signer, 122
Anschluss, 60, 67

Apartment House Owners' Associa-
tion, 127

Atlanta, 29

resolution on housing, 130-131
Appian Way, 56

Architectural League of New York,

123

Argentina, public housing in, 262
Arthurdale, 112
Associated Press, 247
Association of General Contractors,

105
Asterdord, project for unsocial in,

200-203

Astor, Lady, 159-160
Atherton, Ray, 91-92
Athlone, Countess of, 92, 171
Atlanta:

City Attorney, ruling re projects,

136

FHA project in, 225
fire in, 232-233
first federal replacement of slums,

113
meeting of overseas housing experts

in, 107-111
Atlanta Apartment House Owners

Association, 29

Atlanta Chamber of Commerce, 229
Housing and Town Planning Com-
mittee of, 231
Atlanta City Planning Commission,

122

Atlanta Constitution, 13, 213, 221
Atlanta Federation of Trades, 234
Atlanta Housing Authority, 229, 232,
236, 248, 249

first annual report, 252
Atlanta Journal, The, 15

radio station WSB, 114
Atlanta University, 249

263

264

Austria, 59-67

Leopoldau, 65-66, in, 112, 196, 243
housing tax in, 62-64

B

Back-to-back stoves, 186, 187, 247

Bandboxes in Philadelphia, 207-210

Bank of Italia, 46

Baratono, Pietro, 34, 36, 42

Barnes, Harry, 19-20, 95-97, 195

Barton, Bruce, 254-255, 261

Baruch, Bernard M., 221

Baseball in Russia, 71-72

Baths, sitting, 186, 187

Bauer, Catherine, 253

Bauer, Richard, 65, 243

Beau Street area, Liverpool, 188

Beavers' Slide, 16, 20, 113, 244

Bebington District Council, 109, no,

190-191
Becontree Housing Project, 96, 168-

170

Bender, Philip, 71, 73, 76, 79
Berlin, 82-88

Neue Scholle, 85-87
Bethnal Green, London, 152
Black, Eugene, 220-221
Blackett, Sir Basil, 93
Blaine, James G., 222
Board of Trustees, 14-15
Bohn, Ernest J., 108, 109, no, 122, 212
Bolshevism in Austria, 61, 196
Booker T. Washington High School,

249

Boston, illustrated talks in, 207
Boxberg, Mr., 60, 64
Boy Scouts, 42, 205
Brighton, England, 148-150
Brightwells, dedication of, 170-172
Brisbane, Arthur, 142
Britain, 142-143

curtailment of housing program,
242

first compulsory housing laws, 90-

9i
garden cities, 173-178, 231

Index

Housing Act (1933), 90, 96

Letch worth, 175-178

slum clearance in, 90-100
Brittain, Dr. M. L., 14, 213
Brookwood Bugle, The, 3, 144
Brown, Lewis H., 115-116, 117, 253
Buckingham, Sam, 129
Building Industry Council of Review,

90

Bullitt, William C., 71, 95, 121-122
Burge, Flip, 13

Burgess Road Housing Scheme, 146
Burke and Hare, 154
"Businessman and Subsidized Hous-
ing, The," 240

Caesar, Julius, 56

Callaway, Cason, 126

Callaway, Roy, 236

Canadian Housing Centre, Toronto,

171

Candler, John S., II, 9
Canterbury, England, 150
Capital City Club, 126
Capitalism, enlightened, 102
Capitol Homes, 237
Carpenter, Robert, 234
Carter, Sir Edwin Bonham, 164
Case Popolari of Italy, 35, 36, 37-40,
43, 46, 50-54

birth rate in, 51-52

death rate in, 52
Gates, Sanitary Chief, 234
Chamberlain, Neville, 178
Chamber of Commerce:

Fire Prevention Committee of, 233

United States, 235
Chambers, Sir Theodore, 173, 178,

230

Chich ester, England, 148
Children:

in projects for unsocial, 203

in state camps, 39, 42, 58

at Tech wood, 213
Childs, Marquis, 246

Index

265

Choate, Herbert, 14
Cholera:

in Naples, 32, 43

and slum clearance, 5
Church organizations, 105
Circular town, plan of, 182
"Circumlocution Department," 22-30
Clark Howell Homes, 237
Clas, A. R., 126
Cohen, Benjamin V., 116, 117, 211,

212

Cohen, Major John S., 15
Collyhurst Clearance, Manchester,

194
Constantini, Ing. Comm. Innocenzo,

50-52, 56

Constitution, The, 236
Construction contracts:
in England, 98-99
in Rome, 51
Contreras, Carlos, 239
Corcoran, Thomas G., 116, 117, 211,

212

Costain, J. K., 188-189, I9l
Couch, J. Allen, 234
Creches, in Russia, 75
Crisci, Anna, 57-58

D

Dagenham Plant, England, 230
Daiger, J. M., 116, 133, 226
Davidge, W. R., 170, 195
Day, Joseph P., 124-125, 126
Decanting slum dwellers, 39-40

in London, 162
Decrowding, 93-95
Depression, 167-168

housing and, 204
Dickens, Charles, 22-23, 153, 154, 164,

178

Dickenson, John, 31
Differential rents, 97, 184, 187-188
Dockers, housing for, 145-147
Dollfuss, Chancellor Engelbert, 59-60
Duca d'Acosta project, 39
Dye, Alexander V., 239

Eagan, John, 249-251

East End, London, 151-154, 169

Eastman Kodak Company, 107, 111

Eccles, John F., 174-175

Economist, The, 3-4

Edinburgh, 184, 187-188

Edward VIII, King, 172

on slums, 142-143
Edwards, A. Trystan, 178-183, 187,

i95» 243

Eisenhower, Dwight D., 260-261
Elizabeth I, Queen, 153
Emergency Housing Corporation, 27
Emory University, Atlanta, 123
England, 89-100, 144-170 (see also

Britain)

Engle, N. H., 239
Ernest, Fred, 251

Factories, nuisance, siting of, 177

Family Welfare Society, 1 1 1

Fascists, 33, 42

Federal Administration of Public
Works, 8

Federal Emergency Housing Corpo-
ration, 25, 28
Ickes, president of, 27

Federal Housing Administration, 83,
84, 119

Federal government, forced into hous-
ing business, 24-25

Federal Housing Division, 19
Legal Department, 23

Federal Reserve Board, 116, 226

Ferdinand, Archduke, assassination of,

59

Financial officials, 148-149
Financing public housing:

in Austria, 62-63, 224-225

Edwards's plan for, 180-182

in Germany, 82-83

in Naples, 34-35, 36

in Russia, 73-74

266

Index

Flagler, Thorne, 13, 29
Fleet, Reginald S., 231
Forbes, Dr., 148-150
Ford, Edsel, 229-231, 253
Ford, Henry, 230-231

Dagenham Plant, England, 230

minimum wage, 230
Ford enterprises, 173
France, Mopin System in, 185
Frankenstein, 80
Frankfurter, Felix, 209, 210-211, 212,

217

Freeman, O. I., 16
Friedrichs, Dr. Adolf, 82-85
Fulham Housing Improvement So-
ciety, 170

Galleria Umberto, 33

Garchey System of garbage disposal,

185
Garden cities:

Ebenezer Howard and, 175, 177-178

Letch worth, 175-178

Welwyn, 173-175, 177, 178, 231
Garden City and Town Planning As-
sociation, 172

Gargiulo, William, 32, 34, 39
George, Senator, 137, 141
George Washington Hof, 65, 196
Georgia, public housing in, 232
Georgian- American, The, 15
Georgia Tech, 7, 14
Germany, 82-88

seeds of war in, 87-88
Gipton Housing Estate, 185
Girl Scouts, 42
Glasgow, 184
Golden Rule Hospital for Crippled

Children, 16

"Goldshirts," Mexico, 238
Goodwin, Mrs., 111
Grady, Henry, Jr., 253
Grady Homes, 237
Grady Hospital, 232, 233
Greenwood, Arthur, 193
Gregg, Lewis, 221, 222

Guernsey, Isle of, 181-182

Guili, Giorgio, 52

Guste, William J., 239-240

Hackett, Colonel Horatio B., 113, 121
Hague, The, 203
Halton, Miss E. E., 238
Hammond, R. S., 233
Harris, Joel Chandler, 249-250
Hartsfield, Mayor, 229, 232, 233, 236,

250, 252, 258-259
Harvard Business School, Cambridge,

207

Harvard Club, 124-126
Heaven, housing category, 43-44
Hell, housing category, 43-44
Henderson, Sir Arthur, 152, 255
Henderson, Loy W., 71, 73, 76
Henry VIII, King, 153
Herald Tribune, 124, 125
Heywood, Leonard, 192-194
Hill, Octavia, 156-160, 163
Hitler, Adolf, 82
Holland, 198-204

Amsterdam, 198-200

projects for unsocial in, 200-204
Hoopingarner, Dwight L., 116
Hoover, Herbert C., 235
Hope, Dr. John, 16-17, 237, 244
Hopkins, Harry, 50, 52, 54-56, 58, 101,
107, 111-113, 115, 134, 168, 210,
217

meeting with, 103-106
Hornsby, Police Chief, 233
Hotel de Russie Grand, Rome, 43
Hotel-like structures, Rome, 50-51, 52
Hound well, 146
Housing Act (1936), 142
Housing Act (1937), 246
Housing Act (1933), Britain, 90, 96
Housing costs:

foolish economies, 148-149
Housing Division of Public Works

Administration, 115, 116
Housing trusts, 166

Index

267

Howard, Ebenezer, 175, 177-178

Howe, Louis, 112

Howell, Clark, Jr., 213

Howell, Clark, Sr., 13-14, 25-26, 85,

i33-i37» 141-142. 237

Clark Howell Homes, 237

correspondence with Ickes, 136-137
How the Other Half Lives, 11
Hughes, Tom, 60
Hull, Cordell, 31

Ickes, Harold, 17-18, 26, 27, 28, 112,

119, 120, 123, 136-137, 141
in Atlanta, 113-115
meeting with, 228-229
speech by, 114-115

Ickes, Mrs., 121

Ihlder, John, 226-227

Incorrigible tenants, dealing with,
200-204

Industry, siting of, 177

Infant mortality, 52, 161-162

Insanitary housing, 94

Insurance Institute, Naples, 36, 42

International Federation for Housing
and Town Planning, Mexico City
meeting, 237-239

Inter-Racial Relationships, Commit-
tee on, 249

Intourist, Soviet Travel Bureau, 70

Isle of Man, Lord Bishop of, 189

Japan, slum problem in, 138-140
Jellicoe, Father, 163
Jenkinson, Reverend Charles, 184-187
Joel Chandler Harris High School,

249-250

John Eagan Homes, 249-251
John Hope Homes, 237
Johns-Manville Corporation, 115
Johnson, Dewey, 234
Jonasch, Bronislas, 59-60

Journal-Herald, Waycross, Georgia,

235

Journal of Labor, The, 254
Juvenile Court, 249

Kagawa, Toyohiko, 138-140, 228

Kanee, Henry, 119-120, 210

Karl Marx Hof, 64-65

Karloff, Boris, 80

Kauffman, Miss Rhoda, 111

Keay, L. H., 188

Kelley, Robert, 122

Keppler, Herr Arie, 198-200

Key, James L., 14, 205-206

Keyserling, Leon, 215

Kirk, Alexander, 43, 50

Kohn, Dr. Ernest, 25, 26, 107, 109, 111

Ku-Klux Klan, 249

LaGuardia, Fiorello, 215, 246
Labour Party, 188

Landlords, and slum-clearance proj-
ects, 19, 20, 24
Landsdown, Miss, 171
League of Nations, 59
Ledebrer, Miss J. G., 172
Leeds, 184-187

differential renting in, 97
Leeds City Council, 167
Lenin's tomb, 76
Leopoldau, Austria, 65-66, 111, 112,

196, 243

Letch worth, 175-178
Light-shaft rooms, 189-190
Limehouse area, London, 152, 153
Little Dorrit, 22-23, 178
Litvinov, Maxim, 80, 81
Liverpool, 184, 189

Beau Street area, 188
Lloyd George, David, 178
London, 89-100, 194, 195-198

Becontree development, 96, 168-170

268

Index

London— continued

East End, 151-154, 169

Housing Societies, 166

slum clearance, 151
London County Council, 96, 151, 152,

168, 255

Long, Breckenridge, 54
Long, Huey, 134

M

McCarl, J. R., 27, 140
MacDonald, T. H., 134
McGill, Ralph, 213, 214
Mclntyre, Marvin, 26-27, 119, 210,

217, 226

McReynolds, William H., 226
Making of an American, The, 218
Malaria, 56

Man, Isle of, Lord Bishop of, 189
Manchester, England, 184, 192-194,

*95

Marlen, Ir. L. van, 198-203
Martin, John, 184, 192
Mathews, Cecil, 43, 50, 52
Mathews, Gisella, 56, 57
Mexico City:

International Federation for Hous-
ing and Town Planning, meeting
in, 237-239

public housing projects in, 239
Michelson, Charles, 219
Miller, Dr. Margaret, 154-160
Mockabee, A. D., 28
Mopin System, 185
Morgenthau, Henry, 219, 220, 224,

225, 226, 227

Morgenthau, Mrs. Henry, 219, 224
Moron, Alonzo, 214
"Moron" verses, 128, 129
Morrison, Right Honourable Herbert

Stanley, 215-216
Mortimer, Arthur, 164
Moscow:

baseball in, 71-72

housing projects in, 74-76

Park of Culture and Rest, 72-73

Rest Day in, 79
subway in, 73, 77-78
Moscow Housing Co-operative, 73-74
Motion pictures of European trip,

107, 111-113, 119-122
Musil, Herr Doctor Engineer, 60-63
"Municipal Construction and Slum

Demolition at Naples," 32
Mussolini, Benito, 31-32, 38, 43, 49,

56. 58, 59
on types of housing, 43-44

N

Naples, 31

Case Popolari, 35, 36, 37-40
cholera in, 32, 43

financing slum clearance, 34-35, 36
Rione della Carita, 32-33
slums in, 33-34

National Association of Building
Owners and Managers, 8, 105,
127-132

of United States and Canada, 76
National Association of Housing Offi-
cials, 107, 108, 198
meeting in Washington, 242
National Association of Real Estate

Boards, 105, 259-260
National Emergency Council, 116
National Federation of Housing So-
cieties, 172

National Housing Act, 83
National Housing Committee (Brit-
ain), 90
National Industrial Recovery Act, 8,

24,49
National Public Housing Conference,

123, 246-247

Nazis, and Austria, 59-67
Negoreloje-Moskau Express, 68-70
Negroes:

John Eagan Homes, 249-251
University Homes, 18, 244
Nelson, Herbert U., 253-254, 259
Neubacher, Doctor Engineer Herman,

66-67

Index

269

Neue Scholle, Germany, 85-87

"New Homes for Old" exhibition,

172

New Orleans:
Community Chest Campaign, 240-

241

public housing in, 239-240
New York Act, 122
New York American, 124
New York Building Congress, 123,

207
New York City, railroad tenements

in, 189-190

New York Daily News, 245
New York Real Estate Board, 123
New York Times, 124
Nonprofit corporations, 8
North American-South American

Housing Axis, 239

Oak Knoll, 225

O'Connor, Basil, 222

Octavia Hill Association, Philadel-
phia, 159

Octavia Hill System, 147-148, 159
in Holland, 200

OGPU, 71, 76, 79

Oliver Twist, 153

One Hundred New Towns for Britain,
178-183

Overcrowding, 10, 12
dealing with, 93-95

Overcrowding Law, Britain, 166, 191,
256

Paine, Thomas, 129

Palace of the Soviets, 76-78

Palmer, Carl, 130

Palmer, Charles F.r
investigation of, 28
in Mexico City, 237-239
meeting with Mussolini, 31-32
opposition to, 126-127

parents of, 15-16

personal attacks on, 27-28

speech in New Orleans, 240-241

testifies in Washington, 215-216

in train wreck, 237-238

at Warm Springs, 119-121

in Washington, 21-24, 26

at the White House, 218
Palmer, Jeannette, 3, 144
Palmer, Laura, 3, n, 22-23, 29-30, 41,

111, 144

Palmer, Margaret, 3, 144, 228, 255
"Palmer's Paradise," 20
Parker, Barry, 175-178, 195, 196, 197
Parker, Mrs. Barry, 176
Parker, Fire Chief, 233, 234
Parkinson, Thomas L, 252
Park of Culture and Rest, Moscow,

72-73

Patterson, Joseph, 245
Peabody, George, 166
Pentland, Lady Marjorie, 171-172
Pepler, Sir George, 238
Pepler, Lady, 238
Perkins, Frances, 25, 116, 122
Peron, Evita, 262
Perry, Miss Evelyn E., 161, 171
Philadelphia:

bandboxes in, 207-210

privy vaults in, 208-209

slums in, 159, 160
Pine Mountain, 104, 112, 257
Plymouth, England, 160
Poland, 68

Police Station, Atlanta, 11-13
Political influence on slum clearance,
13-14, 25-26, 27, 197

in England, 98-99, 152

in Holland, 199
Polizzi, Benedetto, 56-57
Pontine Marshes, 55, 56-58, 154, 223,

239

Porter, Herbert, 14-15, 19

Portsmouth, England, 148

Prampolini, Signor Natale, 56-57

Princeton, New Jersey, 207

Private enterprise and public hous-
ing, 24, 84-85, 231

270

Index

Privy vaults in Philadelphia, 208-209
"Program for Dynamic America, A,"

255-256

Psychiatrist story, 195-196
Public housing:

Mussolini's categories, 43-44
private enterprise and, 24, 231
Public Housing Authorities, number

of, 258

Purgatory, housing category, 43-44
Putsch, Nazi, 59, 67

Quarry Hill clearance, Leeds, 184-

185, 188
Queen Mary, 142-143, 145

Railroad tenements, 189-190
Ramspeck, Robert, 122, 141
Read, Miss Florence, 111, 214
Real estate brokers, opposition to

slum clearance, 15, 18-21, 24
Reconstruction Finance Corporation,

116

Refuse disposal, Garchey System, 185
Rehousing slum dwellers, 39-40, 50,

162, 200-204

Reiss, Captain Richard L., 231
Renting, differential, 97, 184, 187-188
Rents:

collection of, in England, 99

determining, 184

in Germany, 83, 87

housing for unsocial (Holland),
202-203

in Moscow, 75

in Naples, 35, 36-37

in Rome, 51

in Tech wood, 141

in Vienna, 64

Resettlement Administration, 112
Riefler, Winfield, 116

Riis, Jacob, 11, 33, 218
Rione della Carita, 32-33, 37
Rockefeller, John D., Jr., 244-245, 252
Roddan, Edward L., 219
Rome, 41-58

Albergo Popolare, 52-53
Case Popolari of, 43
Roosevelt, Franklin D., 8, 23, 26-27,
29, 49, 92, 102, 128, 133, 141, 197,
210, 235, 257
dedication of Techwood Homes,

137-138

law against overcrowding, 168
press conference at Warm Springs,

H9

quoted, 11

"sink of iniquity" remark, 221-222
speech in Atlanta, 217
Roosevelt, Mrs. F. D., 112, 137, 205,

212, 217-227, 243-244
Roosevelt, James, 138
Rotary Clubs, Britain, 164
Royal Institute of British Architects.

95

Rural housing, 57, 85-87
Ruskin, John, 156
Russell, Richard, 137
Russia, 68-81

housing program in, 73

picture taking in, 76

tenant selection in, 75

S

Saint Pancras Housing Improvement

Society, 159, 161-166
Samuels, Miss Alice, 107, 109, 111,

148, 190-191
Saunders, Robert, 130
Sawtell, Richard, 225
Sayward, W. J., 16
Schmidt, Dr. Friedrich, 85
Scotland, 170, 187-191
Secret Service, 126, 127
Securities Act (1933), 116
Shepperson, Miss Gay, 111, 112
Sherman, General William T., 237

Index

271

Shopping centers, Manchester, 194

Shoreditch, London, 152

Silkin, Lewis, 97-100, 151-154

Simkhovitch, Mrs. Mary, 122

Simon, Sir Ernest, 194-195

Simon, Lady, 195

Simons, George, 234

Sitting baths, 186, 187

Slum, Its Story and Solution, The, 96

Slum clearance, 8

compulsion, use of, 42

"decanting method," 39-40, 162

management, problem of, 99-100

and real estate values, 4

related to war, 195, 242
Slum-clearance projects:

attacks on, 18-20, 27-28

first (in Italy), 32-33

first in U. S., 18

Slum property, power to condemn, 33
Smallpox in Atlanta, 32
Smith, W., 194
Socialism:

in Austria, 61

fear of, 231

Social workers associations, 105
Society of Women Housing Estate
Managers of Great Britain, 107,
no, 172

Soloman, Miss M. C., 172
Somerville, James, Jr., 89
South Africa, 159
Southampton, England, 145-148, 149

development for dockers, 146

Rotary Club of, 164

two-story nonparlor houses, 146-147
Soviets, Palace of the, 76-78
Spelman College, 214, 244
Sports in Russia, 71-73
Sprague, Professor Oliver M. W., 124,

125

Stalin, Joseph, 72
Starhemberg, Prince von, 59
State camps for children, Italy, 39, 42,

58

Stepney, England, 153
Stoves, back-to-back, 186, 187, 247
Straus, Mike, 113, 114

Straus, Nathan, 235, 243, 244

Stuntz, A. Edward, 43

Subsidies, rent, 157

Subsistence homesteads, 104, 111-112

Subtenants, 37

Subway in Moscow, 73, 77-78

Swaythling Housing Society, 164

Talmadge, Eugene, 133-137, 258

attitude toward slums, 133-136
Talmadge, Governor Herman, 258
Tanyard Creek, 10, 20
Tax:

cinema, 149

graduated rent, 224

housing, in Austria, 62-64
Tech wood Advisory Committee, 136-

137
Techwood area, 4, 7, 9-11, 107

inhabitants of, 11-13

photographs of slums, 20
Techwood Day, 205-206
Techwood Homes, 18, 55, 113-114

dedication of, 137-138, 197, 205-207

expansion of, 237

"Palmer's Paradise," 20

Mrs. Roosevelt at, 212-213
Tenants:

exploitation of, 185

income, information on, 188

incorrigible, in Holland, 200-204

selection of, in Russia, 75

as workers, in Austria, 66
Texcoco, Mexico, salt-sea reclamation

at, 239

Therrell, James H., 250-251
Thompson, Miss Malvina, 213, 246
Tiller, Sid, 15
Tockmechev, F. P., 73-75
Transportation for workers, 149-150,

169

Trusts, housing, 164
Tuberculosis, reduction of, 51
Tunbridge Wells, 150
Turley, Clarence, 131

272

Index

Twenty New Towns for America
(T.N.T.), 243-246

U

Umberto I, King, 32, 45
Underwood, Judge E. Marvin, 29, 42
Unemployables, housing for, 44, 202
Unemployment, and public housing,

7» 44. 199

United Kingdom, five-year plan, 151
United States Housing Act (1937), 227
University Homes, 18, 107, 138

Mrs. Roosevelt at, 214-215
Unsocial, projects for, 200-203
Untermeyer, Louis, 228
Unwin, Sir Raymond, 107, in, 175,

195-198

Victor Emmanuel III, 38, 42, 43
Videla, Senora Gonzalez, 262
Vienna, 59-67

under martial law, 60
Ville Sur Illon, Conte de la, 35, 36, 42
Vladeck, B. Charney, 124
Vodka, 69-70

W

Wagner, Senator Robert, 122, 123,

133, 206, 212, 217
Wagner Bill, 226, 229
Walker, Frank, 116
Wallace, Henry, 104, 106, 111-113, 115,

122

Waller, Mrs. Madge, 172
Walsh, Senator, 215-216
Wander, T. S., 82, 85-88
War, and slum clearance, 195, 197-

198, 242

Warm Springs, Georgia, 27, 119, 210,

257
Indians at, 221

Warsaw, 68

Washington Alley Dwelling Author-
ity, 226

Washington Memorial Library Fo-
rum, Macon, 211-212

Watkins, Garland, 248

"Way Out, The," 101-106, 115-116

Weltner, Philip, 252

Welwyn Garden City, 173-175, 177,
178, 231

Welwyn Stores, 174

Whitechapel section, London, 152

William III, King of Holland, 198

Williams, Colonel L. Kemper, 240

Withey, Howard, 32

Women as housing managers, 156-160
in Holland, 200

Women's Advisory Housing Council,
172

Wood, Sir Kingsley, 193

Woodbury, Coleman, 198

Works Progress Administrator, 55,

i34> 19°
in Georgia, in
World Telegram, 124
World War I, 59
World War II, 60
World War against Slums, The, 124,

127. 223

Wright, Henry, 108, 173
Wrigley, John C., 93-95, 166, 195, 256
Wythenshawe, park at, 195

Yofan, Boris M., 77-78

Zuider Zee projects, 239

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