The People's Tycoon: Henry Ford and the American Century (Vintage) (44 page)

Ford embraced the antiwar position. As early as February 1915, he reprinted George Washington's Farewell Address, with its warning about the dangers of foreign entanglements, in the
Ford Times.
By the summer, he had abandoned subtlety for polemics. On August 22, in a lengthy statement to the Detroit
Free Press,
he declared,

The common people of the world desired peace, Ford insisted, but their desires were thwarted by corrupt rulers who sought glory and political
advantage. These misguided leaders were encouraged by commercial “parasites” who sought to profit from conflict.
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Over the next two years, Ford gained a national reputation as an antiwar activist. In a series of newspaper statements, he made many memorable declarations. “To my mind, the word 'murderer' should be embroidered in red letters across the breast of every soldier,” he told a reporter in 1915. “The saddest thing about this war—about every war, in fact, is that the people acquiesce in it…. Two classes benefit by war—the militarists and the money lenders.” The following year, in an interview with a socialist newspaper, Ford argued that war should be declared only after a referendum by the nation's citizens: “The people who do the fighting and pay the war debts should have a vote as to whether they wanted a war or not.” In an article in the magazine
Farm Life,
Ford contended that the United States was “confronted by the greatest danger in its history…. We are confronted by the danger of militarism.” He denounced cheap appeals to patriotism. In his view, “patriotism does not consist merely of dying for one's country. I believe that patriotism consists more in living for the benefit of the whole world, of giving others a chance to live for themselves, their country, and the world.”
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Ford also launched an advertising campaign that nationally distributed antiwar articles appearing under his name. In an essay entitled “Concerning Preparedness,” he noted, “I am having this statement printed in the advertising columns of newspapers and magazines throughout the United States. Others will follow. I have no other purpose than to save America from bloodshed and its young men from conscription.” Another, entitled “Humanity—and Sanity,” quoted Washington, Jefferson, and Franklin on the dangers of war and military establishments and proclaimed, “It is the duty of Congress to keep this country out of a war into which there is no reason for our entrance.”
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Eventually, as a man of action rather than a thinker, Ford attempted to put his beliefs into practice. Well meaning but naïve, he embraced an initiative that would eventually absorb huge amounts of time and money before degenerating into an international fiasco. It became one of the most embarrassing episodes in Ford's life. The voyage of the “Peace Ship,” as it came to be known, took shape in late 1915, as Ford made the acquaintance of several people who sought to use both his name and his money.

For many months, Rosika Schwimmer, a Hungarian journalist, political activist, and pacifist, had been agitating for an end to World War I by neutral mediation. Working with figures such as Jane Addams, she had helped persuade the International Congress of Women in The Hague to support this policy. She came to the United States in 1915and toured the country
speaking at antiwar gatherings. Schwimmer noted Ford's public opposition to the war, and wrote to him to secure an interview. Louis Lochner, a young American pacifist working with the International Federation of Students and International Peace Congress, had been similarly aroused by Ford's efforts. Schwimmer and Lochner visited Ford at his Dearborn home in early November. They presented their plan for convening a commission of representatives from neutral nations who would work to negotiate a peace acceptable to all warring parties. With little effort, the pair convinced Ford that the people of the belligerent nations desperately sought peace and would support mediation.

Ford agreed to finance a barrage of telegrams to President Wilson in behalf of this peace strategy. Moreover, to the surprise of Schwimmer and Lochner, he suggested that he accompany them to the East Coast to rouse support for “continuous mediation.” Within a matter of days, the trio left for New York City and met with a group of prominent supporters—Jane Addams, Dean George W. Kirchwey of Columbia University, Paul Kellogg of
Survey
magazine—and hatched a plan. First, they would seek Wilson's support for sending an official commission to Europe to participate in a convention pursuing “continuous mediation.” If this option failed, they would dispatch a private group across the Atlantic to participate. Ford procured an appointment at the White House, and he and Lochner traveled to Washington the next day for a meeting with the President. The conference was pleasant but unsuccessful. Though Wilson was sympathetic to the proposal and grateful for Ford's offer to finance a commission of mediators to Europe, he believed that such a move was unlikely to succeed and politically impossible. A disappointed Ford commented afterward, “He's a small man.”

But Ford had another plan brewing. Back in New York City, he summoned reporters to a press conference on November 24. Flanked by prominent supporters such as Jane Addams, Oswald Garrison Villard, and Ida Tarbell, Ford made a dramatic announcement. Speaking in his usual halting fashion before a public audience, he said, “We're going to try to get the boys out of the trenches before Christmas. I've chartered a ship and some of us are going to Europe.” He explained that he had leased a ship, the
Oscar II,
from the Scandinavian-American Line and planned to fill it, at his expense, with many of “the biggest and most influential peace advocates in the country.” They would exert moral pressure and mobilize public opinion to convene a giant peace conference in a neutral European city. “I am for this thing because it is right and I am going to give my last cent to carry it through,” Ford declared. “The world is with a movement to establish a lasting peace.”
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Throughout late November, newspaper headlines proclaimed “Ford to Captain Peace Crusade in Chartered Liner,” “Peace Ship Will Sail in
December,” “Prominent People to Go with Ford.” Ford encouraged the attention with a stream of news releases detailing his preparation. He distributed the texts of telegrams and letters of invitation he had sent to over one hundred progressives, peace advocates, and political leaders, including ex–Secretary of State William Jennings Bryan, Jane Addams, John Wanamaker, Thomas Edison, John Burroughs, William Howard Taft, Luther Burbank, Washington Gladden, and the governors of all the states. He also announced an idea for calling a general strike on Christmas Day among troops on both sides of the conflict. Through use of a powerful wireless telegraph, he planned to send a message in English, French, German, Russian, Italian, Serbian, and a number of dialects urging the troops on both sides to abandon the trenches. He appeared at a mass meeting of antiwar enthusiasts in New York and sat on the platform while Schwimmer and others made speeches. The audience began to chant, “We want Ford,” however, and the terrified industrialist was finally coaxed to the lectern to say a few words. That is exactly what he did. “Out of the trenches by Christmas, never to return!” he cried out, and then fled the stage.
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As news of the Ford plan spread throughout the United States, he received plaudits from several quarters. He was praised as a “peacemaker,” and a man of “pure mind and honest heart” who sought “the end of war and the reestablishment of decent regard for civilization in lands where humanity suffers and hell prevails.” He was lauded for defying “the overlords of plutocracy” who sought to perpetuate the war as a profit-making enterprise, and refusing to play “according to the rules laid down by Vanderbilt, Gould, and Fisk, and perfected by Morgan and Rockefeller.” Ford had revealed the secret that “our noble plundercrats are making billions in supplying the warring nations in Europe.” As the New York
Herald
summed up, “We need more Fords, more peace talks, and less indifference to the greatest crime in the world's history.”
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An undercurrent of difficulty and doubt, however, began to subvert the mission of the Peace Ship. First of all, Ford's high-profile invitees, one by one, offered support and good wishes but declined the offer to sail for Europe on the
Oscar II.
Matters became worse when Ford released a statement to the press indicating that Addams, Edison, and Wanamaker were joining him, whereas in fact they were not. As many newspapers noted, Ford “seemed to have some difficulty …in telling just who will and who will not sail on the peace ship Oscar II.” The Louisville
Herald
observed that Ford's plight recalled this old verse:

Moreover, negative commentary about Ford's plan began to surface. By early December, newspaper editorials and public speeches were raising questions about the vagueness of the undertaking, the intrusion of a private citizen into the affairs of government, and Ford's hubris in thinking that a wealthy individual could somehow step in and stop a massive war involving millions of people. Some of the criticism was mild, acknowledging the good intentions while disparaging the tactics. “Mr. Ford is doubtless well-meaning and in earnest, but such busy 'Mr. Fix-its' must be a trial to the President,” noted the Baltimore
Sun.
“All the amateur efforts of altruistic and notoriety-seeking millionaires only make matters worse.” The New York
World
agreed: “Henry Ford says he would give all his fortune to end the war. So would many another man. But this is something that money will not do.”
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Some critics of the Peace Ship offered severe chastisement. “Henry Ford's millions have gone to his head,” the Philadelphia
Record
told its readers. “The fact that a man can make a cheap automobile is not necessarily a qualification for becoming a world leader and showing all the belligerents how much pleasanter and cheaper peace is than war.” “It is worse than ineffable folly for pestiferous busybodies in this country like Henry Ford to nag the President to make an ass of himself,” declared the Louisville
Courier.
Unlike Ford, the paper continued, “the President has already demonstrated that he carries brains instead of cold cream in his head.”
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In a widely quoted remark about the Peace Ship, former Senator Chauncey M. Depew of New York stated, “In uselessness and absurdity it will stand without an equal.” He questioned Ford's motives, suggesting that the industrialist well understood that “the greatest asset in advertising is widespread familiarity with a manufacturer's name.” Depew compared Ford to Phineas T. Barnum, as did the evangelist Billy Sunday, who said, “As a winner of publicity, Ford takes the cake. I think that when Ford put over this advertising for the Ford car the late lamented P. T. Barnum turned over in his grave and said, ‘You win, Henry, you've got me skinned.’ ” Alton B. Parker, the Democratic candidate for president in 1904, offered a more dignified but no less scathing dismissal of Ford's Peace Ship. “If we could only be sure that all other nations would estimate him as we do, as a clown, strutting on the stage for a little time, no harm could come of it,” he stated. “But we have no such assurance. The chances are that his antics will be taken seriously and they will tend to bring us into contempt if not hatred.”
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This torrent of satire, mockery, and sarcasm wounded Ford. For a man
who sought to be taken seriously on the political stage, widespread public scoffing at his airy statements about peace must have been excruciating. The Philadelphia
Ledger
mocked Ford's claims that talking about peace would somehow force the belligerents to negotiate: “No one can tell what they may do under the flood of talk which Mr. Ford proposes to let loose upon them.” Cartoons lampooned Ford and the peace expedition. One pictured Ford dressed as a clown, parting a curtain labeled “European War” as he prepared to step into the public arena waving a fun-maker entitled “Peace.” Another showed a huge erupting volcano labeled “War,” while Ford stood on a nearby peak shaking his fist and yelling, “Now You Stop!” Another depicted a giant bearded warrior with sword, shield, and plumed helmet glancing down as Ford, driving a tiny Model T, bumped into his foot. The scoffing became so prevalent that supporters of Ford pleaded for restraint. He did not deserve to become “a subject of flippant ridicule in the way that is now being done,” wrote the Paterson, New Jersey,
Press-Guardian.
“The motive of this visit … is certainly worthy of respect, although it may be generally held as futile.”
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Despite the criticism, Ford plunged ahead. The
Oscar II
prepared to set sail on December 5from its Hoboken, New Jersey, pier as a crowd estimated at fifteen thousand gathered for the send-off. The guests aboard were a far cry from the celebrities Ford had hoped to entice. Instead of Bryan, Addams, Edison, and Wanamaker, the Peace Ship took on board Dr. Charles Griffin Pease, head of the Anti-Smoking League; editor S. S. McClure; Judge John B. Lindsey of Denver; Governor L. R. Hanna of North Dakota; and a motley collection of reformers advocating everything from temperance to sexual freedom, pacifism to vegetarianism.

The circumstances surrounding the
Oscar II
's departure portended future developments with the peace mission. A circus atmosphere prevailed at dockside as reporters and participants milled about among the thousands of onlookers. A band played “I Didn't Raise My Boy to Be a Soldier” while pacifist, pro-German, and pro-Allies contingents shouted insults at one another. A prankster sent two squirrels up the gangplank in a cage to which was affixed a large sign reading “To the Good Ship Nutty.” (Reporters aboard ship later would name the pair “William Jennings Bryan” and “Henry Ford.”) The Reverend Jenkin Lloyd Jones, who looked remarkably like Santa Claus, amused the throng by presiding at the on-deck marriage of peace delegate Berton Braley, the “Hobo Poet.” As the ship pushed off and Ford stood at the rail waving, a buzz went through the crowd: a fully dressed man dived into the harbor with a great splash and proceeded to swim after the
Oscar II;
when he grew tired and agreed to be pulled from the water, the dripping figure returned to shore, identified himself as “Mr. Zero,” and
informed bemused reporters that he was “swimming to reach public opinion. War must cease.” Cartoons conveyed the carnival atmosphere. They depicted squirrels driving miniature Model T's waving goodbye to their fellows aboard the ship, or bums stumbling aboard the
Oscar II
boozily inquiring, “Is my berth made up?” One of the most effective cartoons portrayed a wide-eyed Ford steering a ship in the shape of a flivver while a crowd of passengers was identified by placards reading “Professional Philanthropists,” “Plain Cranks,” “Rah-Rah Boys,” and “College Professors.” Rather than a picture of dignity and effectiveness, which Ford had hoped to convey, the departure of the
Oscar II
appeared to the public as the first act of a comic opera.
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