My Bonus Army

Welcome back to Myths & Mischief! This is your Lovable Lord of Lore, today’s mischievous myth is about the bonus army and when America militarized Washington DC and opened fire on veterans.

I lived most of my life in Oregon, and I am happy to be home. In my youth, I couldn’t wait to leave, to get out and see the world. I figure that is common enough for young people of any generation, kids just don’t realize how good they have it at home until the see the horrors the world has to offer.

I was still a teenager when I enlisted in the army. Some of my friends enlisted too. Growing up on a farm, I didn’t have that many friends, but I wanted to do my part to protect our democracy by fighting the evils of the world. My parents were proud of me and everyone told me how good I looked in my uniform. I remember the first time I saw it and how I was immediately drawn to the name Carter on my dog tags. We trained and made the jump across the pond. We all thought we were going to go in, raise hell, and go home.

When we got there, we were mocked by the soldiers from other countries. Not only were we late to the party, but they called us dough boys. We helped turn the tide in the war by bringing in supplies and fresh troops.

In the trenches in France, I met a guy named Eric Carlson. We spent a lot of downtime talking about going back to the West Coast. He was from Oakland California and had basically grown up in a city on the beach. It was fun hearing about his adventures as I realized how sheltered I was on the farm. For a time we were inseparable. Other soldiers gave us the nickname of Vickeric, combining our names. It was lame, but I couldn’t blame them.

When the cease fire was signed, we parted and returned home. I don’t know about other places, but Oregon gave us a hero’s welcome. There were parades and fanfare. Everyone was proud of us. Kids waved American flags, women blew kisses, and even older folks were cheering vigorously.

It was nice to be home. It was quiet and pleasant and not at all like my time in the army. I was a local hero of sorts and to be honest, I liked the attention most of the time. At a community gathering, I met a girl from a nearby farm. Her name was Helen, and I knew when I first saw her, even before I knew her name that she would be the future Mrs. Victor Carter.

We married after a brief courtship. Shorty after we married, we read in the paper that that there would be a bonus offered to veterans of the war, but we had to wait to get it. Things were going alright for us, as we had taken over the family farm after my dad had gotten on in years. It was hard work, but we were able to save up some money with the intent on growing our family. That was the best time in my life. I had seen the world, fallen in love, well respected in my community and was optimistic for the future that I had played a part in preserving.

It turns out I was overly optimistic. The trouble started when the rain stopped. The crops dried out so we had nothing to sell. We had nothing to feed the animals. Luckily we had the money we were saving for our dream of having children. Things went from bad to worse. Helen got sick. We spent the last of our savings trying to nurse her back to heath. When the money ran out, so did our time together.

I packed up some essentials, and went to town. It was a long walk. We had already sold the animals we hadn’t eaten and there was nothing left to go home to. In town, it was obvious right away that everyone was in the same situation. Just years earlier we were conquering heroes, and now, I was desperate for anything. I was proud and didn’t want handouts, but all the government was offering were seeds. A lot of good that would do since nothing was growing. Some people ate the seeds. I ran into some veterans that were planning on traveling to cross-country to the capital to demand our bonuses since we wouldn’t live to get it. I didn’t see another way, so I joined them.

We walked to the closest railroad, and caught a train. When I say caught a train, that is no understatement. We literally ran alongside the train and jumped up, catching a handle. Some were lucky enough to find open cars. I wasn’t that lucky, but I channeled my training and ignored the fatigue and pain in my muscles at kept my clutch. We walked, we took trains, it was slow-going but we were making progress. At stops we would forage for food. Sometimes people took pity, sometimes we came up empty.

In Chicago, I met a guy named William Hushka. In our travels, he shared his story. He was born in Lithuania but moved to America and had owned a butcher shop in St. Louis before joining the army. When he got back, he returned to St. Louis but couldn’t settle in, so he moved to Chicago. He found work and a wife and was doing well until the economy sank. No matter how bad things had gotten for him, he stayed cheerful and optimistic, I envied him for that. Between the atrocities of war and my wife and livelihood vanishing, I was in much worse shape emotionally, but the army had instilled in me the will to keep fighting, no matter how bad things got.

We could tell when we were getting closer to cities. The streets and stations were littered with makeshift houses. People called them Hoovervilles, but they weren’t more than some pieces of wood slapped together. The fancy ones had a piece of tin on top. The whole country was suffering. Was this what we were fighting for? A lot of good men died believing they were doing some some good. Where was the good now?

There were talks of communists attempting to join us, but they were shunned by the other veterans and their propaganda was often destroyed. Personally, I couldn’t have cared less if they had joined us. Times were desperate and change was needed. I never put much value in labels. That is one of the lessons I learned in the war. Meeting people like Eric, who grew up in a much different environment than I did, still had hopes and dreams that were put aside for a greater purpose. We had each others backs, and I was indebted to him. His political ideology didn’t make him any less of a person. Of course he wasn’t a communist, although I did tease him about living in such posh weather. How could I pass up an opportunity to make fun of someone that appeared to grow up on the beach with all that sun. Maybe the whole communist thing was more of a city issue. I had heard of a shootout with union organizers up north in Everette Washington, but on the farm, you mostly kept to yourself.

Only a bunch of veterans could be this organized. When we finally got to Washington, there was a makeshift village on the Anacostia Flats with more people arriving every day. Following the Hooverville model and our own experiences, we set up makeshift little huts. During the day, we marched. Our goal was simple, put pressure on the government to give us our bonuses now, because now is when we need them.

There was a talk around the camp that the government was too busy with their posh lifestyle to understand our plight or that of all the people around the country. Their problem was that we had nowhere to go, many of us had lost our homes were desperate. So, we stuck around, drumming up support. I did manage to run into Eric and introduced him to William. We were like 3 peas in a pod, even though we all came from different parts of the country.

Eric told us how bad things had gotten in California. His route took him through the south. He told us how hard it was to walk by people who were starving to death without being able to help them. It wasn’t a choice, he couldn’t do anything about it. I was hoping some of William’s optimism would rub off on him, but like me, he was in more of a survival mode than anything else. We helped each other put our huts right next to each other and we shared whatever food we could muster. Looking around, it was obvious that these veterans couldn’t afford to wait another 13 years for their money.

Word around camp was that the senate had defeated a bill to provide early bonus payments.

We didn’t know that the president had instructed the U.S. Attorney General William D. Mitchell to order our removal. Many were packing up and leaving since we were unsuccessful at passing the bill. The first wave came with the police. It was pandemonium. The three of us tried to run for safety, only to be caught up in the front of the melee. Then the police opened fire. William dropped. He had survived the Great War, only to be taken down by some flatfoot. Eric charged the cop and went down as well. I grabbed him and tried to pull him out of the way. Someone had grabbed William and was dragging him behind us. We all retreated to the camp, looking for cover. Later the Police Superintendent Glassford claimed that the police could have handled the situation without military intervention. That was of no condolence to me. He resigned shortly afterwards.

When we saw troops marching, we thought they were honoring us, until the cavalry charged with soldiers armed with fixed bayonets and tear gas, then the troops with machine guns and the tanks came next. It seemed like only seconds since the 3 of us were sitting around laughing, and now the camp was set ablaze and Eric and William were fighting for their lives. The tanks and troops followed us as we continued to retreat.

When the smoke had cleared and dust had settled, both William and Eric were dead. I found out later that Hoover had ordered General MacArthur to stop twice and had been ignored. Serving under MacArthur had been Major Eisenhower who advised against the aggression and Major Patton who was leading the cavalry and tanks. News later came out that a decorated war hero, Joe Angelo, who had saved Patton’s life had spoke with him prior to the charge attempting to convince Patton not to charge veterans that had served with him, but Patton disregarded his concerns. We were also told later that there were 43,000 demonstrators and 17,000 veterans (since many had brought their families out of desperation). 55 veterans were injured and 135 arrested. A veteran’s wife miscarried and a 12-week-old kid died in the hospital after being caught in the tear gas attack.

Hoover took the blame for the debacle, but MacArthur and Patton went on to fight in the next World War. They were effective leaders, when their targets were righteous, but that isn’t what I picture when I think of them. Hoover lost to Roosevelt in the next election, it wasn’t close. I like to think that landslide loss was the people honoring us, as they understood what we sacrificed, and how desperate things were for everyone. Roosevelt didn’t send out our bonuses either. We were received better in the next bonus march though. They even set up stations to feed us as well as providing transportation and entertainment (military bands).

After the second Bonus Army march, he did offer jobs to veterans. I worked for one of those jobs in the Civilian Conservation Corps. I would have qualified anyway, but other veterans with families were allowed jobs in the program as well having been given a waiver.

Those job offers may have been inspired by a movie called Gabriel Over the White House, where the use of the military was decided against, and the veterans were given jobs instead. In the movie, they created an “army of construction” that helped until the economy recovered.

In 1936, Congress overrode President Roosevelt’s veto and finally paid the veterans their bonus nine years early, but for Eric and William, it was tragically too late. After the next war, the GI bill was created to support veterans returning from war. It also helped establish the American middle class which helped stabilize the economy. Once the economy was back on track, I returned to Oregon by way of Chicago and Oakland to pay my respects to the families of Eric and William. When I finally got back to Oregon, things had changed. The Naval Shipyard had brought in droves of people and it was barely recognizable. I worked for a childhood friend and lived on his farm. I am grateful that he was willing to take me in.

I am haunted by things I saw in war, but those things seemed inevitable. I am haunted by my memories of the raid on the bonus army, and feel that whole situation was avoidable. What I do cherish is those moments, whether it be in a trench or in a little makeshift hut, sharing stories and laughing with some good people. The other thing that haunts me is that I can’t imagine a show of greater disrespect for those that put their lives on the line, only to be ignored and their needs left unmet by the country they served and love.

That’s it for this week’s installment, this is your Lord of the Lore signing off.

If you liked this tale, make sure to subscribe for more so you don’t miss the next installment of mischievous myths!