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THE FEDERAL WRITERS' PROJECT . Table
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I : Ramping Up
The main inspiration for an all-inclusive Federal
arts project rose from several initiatives funded
by the Public / Civil Works Administrations.
Such projects included the preservation of public
records, photographic / historic architectural
surveys and the well-respected PWAP mural program
(its works still visible on the inner walls of
small town post offices nationwide). These proved
successful test cases that would provide the Roosevelt
administration impetus enough to pursue a broad
expansion in ‘arts relief.’ Yet opinions
on such an expansion from outside of the administration
returned mixed results. When asked about the creation
of a Federal ‘creative writers program,’ the
famed and notoriously caustic critic H. L. Mencken
was skeptical. Even taking into account the late
economic calamity most good writers were not wont
for work, he claimed, and feared that the administration
would be subsidizing the leftover “quacks” instead
of real deserving talent. Other established writers
proved more supportive, poet William Carlos Williams
ruminating: “Wonders might come from such
a move . . . for letters are the wave’s edge
in all cultural advance which, God knows, we in
America ain’t got much of.”
Monty Noam Penkower has written a definitive study of
the FWP: “The Federal Writers’ Project:
A Study in Government Patronage of the Arts.” In
his prologue, Penkower writes of the morale-crushing
effect the Depression was having on average citizens: “The
sense of America’s uniqueness, of a land
where hopes became realities and paupers self-made
men, seemed to vanish . . .” It’s possible
that this line was placed as foreshadowing; for
it underwrites what would become the core mission
of Federal One, and the FWP specifically:
to recapture the pride embedded in the notion of
America as a land where the average is exceptional.
Through the arts, Federal One sought to
usher in a new sense of spirit, even élan.
It aimed to create a sense of ‘cultural
democracy,’ fostering an appreciation for
/ expectation of the finer things, for all. The
FWP’s strategy was to place the greatness
of the country into the hands of its own citizens.
The American Guide Books would be the
chief result of the project. Its volumes would
resonate with this notion of re-engaging Americans
with their country. The FWP would also go on to
produce a wide variety of significant surveys /
studies, as well as publishing critically-received,
yet short-lived journals of literature. But it
would be the 48 state guides, the hundreds of additional
touring volumes and the thousands of regional /
city touring pamphlets for which the FWP would
come to be known. The guides, whether pamphlet
or volume (most of the WPA state guides weighing
in at a hefty 400+ pages) were meant to usher in
a new approach to ‘auto tourism,’ prompting
Americans to educate themselves about the natural
/ cultural history in their own backyards.
In line with the overall project, the FWP was an expansion
of small-scale projects funded out of the FERA
and CWA. The preservation of public documents (New
Mexico) and what was at the time only a proposed
project involving ex-slaves in the Ohio River Valley,
along with a CWA-funded touring book for the state
of Connecticut (compiled and published in 1935)
gave context to a larger relief project. But it
was the “Newspaper Writers’ Project” of
Los Angeles that served up the model to be
used. Composed of formerly unemployed newspaper
staff, the L.A. project did all of these: preserved
/ recorded public records, conducted field interviews,
compiled and documented local history – but
did so all under one banner. The project’s
results fit right into a 1934 suggestion delivered
directly to administration officials by the established Authors
League: that relief money could be fed into “a
survey of varying aspects of everyday life as it
is lived in all parts of the United States.” This
was the first spark of the idea that would soon
evolve into the FWP and its touring guides. Studies
and histories had been done at the local / regional
level before; but often the results favored boosterism
over reality (often funded by a local economic
development club or chamber of commerce, who expected
bright shining depictions often sanitized of unflattering
facts). The state guides would blend the two, providing
an often encyclopedic opening background narrative
and grist for tourist via the guides’ in-depth
tours (complete with maps, pictures and local attractions).
National FWP directors would invite several public
confrontations over the myth-dispelling contents
that found their way into the state guides. But
through it all, they and the local FWP units did
an admirable job in steering clear of revisionist
pressures. The editors aimed for historical accuracy.
They treated both the legends and facts with due
respect, Penkower noting that via research FWP
workers uncovered “a vast quantity of material
which disproved many local tales written on bronze
memorial tablets.”
With the introduction of Federal One and its
initial $27 million budget (this out of the 1935
WPA appropriation of $5 billion) the FWP’s
small slice was put to work by director Harry Alsberg.
The section’s first and most influential
director, Alsberg’s character itself serves
as a solid metaphor for the FWP: at once relentlessly
dedicated, yet all-over-the-road. The man had turned
away from a rigid pious upbringing and lived his
adult life as an itinerant artist. As FWP director
he brought that creative wanderlust to bear. Many
thought him a flake. He was labeled “an absent-minded
professor,” and the more colorful: “colossus
of chaos.” (Penkower considers it impressive that
the project ran as smoothly as it did, doing so “perhaps
in spite of Alsberg.”) Often criticized for
weakness in dealing with incidents or project personalities
that sapped the effectiveness of FWP productions,
his personal work ethic (often bordering on the
obsessive) and focus on quality does stand out.
A prime example lies in the highly competent /
dedicated group he surrounded himself with. He
brought in Joseph Gaer, head of L.A.’s “Newspaper
Project,” and put the editorial talents
of George Cronyn, Lawrence Abbott and Waldo Browne
to work, assigning them all lead editorial roles
in the FWP. He brought in the well-respected researcher
Katherine Kellock, who championed the idea of tours
that put tourists onto the backroads and not just
the highways. Alsberg’s view on staffing
was driven by talent and not the gender or racial
stereotypes of the day. He would promote several
qualified woman to lead state FWP units and prove
colorblind in elevating staff. In the early days
of assembling the project this vast diversity also
made clear that the scope of the developing project
would overwhelm the central staff in Washington,
creating need for the mentioned state units (something
that would be true of all four sections of Federal
One). Hundreds of individual city units would
also evolve. But as diversified as the research
/ writing efforts would become, Alsberg demanded
that all copy be run through the national office
for final approval – again, prompting several
confrontations. Yet insisting on a centralized
editorial review was perhaps his greatest act as
FWP director. The central staff in D.C. would guarantee
a cohesion and familiar voice to the project’s
final publications that would not have been possible
otherwise. The proof is evident in the state guides,
which despite the thousands of staff members employed
read as volumes in a set.
It is important to come back to the fact that the
FWP was a ‘relief works’ project. It
did not award grants to hand-picked artists. It
was designed more broadly and generally. It was
revolutionary in its mass scope (as minute as it
was inside the overall WPA). Nothing like it had
been attempted before, or has since. And as the
concepts of touring guides / pamphlets and other
study sub-projects began to take shape in the second
half of 1935, the logistics of assembling enough
competent personnel proved a serious challenge.
The big cities were not lacking in those previously
employed in writing-related fields (mainly news
journalism and / or publishing). But finding those
with even basic suitable skills in more rural states
proved next to impossible. It was especially difficult
in southern, plains and southwestern states where
outside of the local folk artist, or well-practiced
string-band, the ‘organized’ arts were
rare finds (and as mentioned, the notion itself
often dismissed outright as not ‘real work’).
A Georgia administrator in the midst of such staffing
difficulties would sum it up well, writing the
D.C. office to say that a ‘writer’ in
his state was working out to mean “any occupation
that involved an understanding of the English language.”
Aside from geographical challenges, another unforeseen
difficulty was a directive that required 90% of
the project’s staff come off the ‘relief
rolls.’ The rule seems political in nature,
perhaps drawn up to secure support from skeptics
of the arts project in Congress. But in reality
it worked to exclude those who had done all they
could to stay off relief, in the process excluding
those employed in the CWA. This would have eliminated
large pools of potential applicants by itself,
eventually being eased for practical reasons. A
final hurdle in the build-up of staff proved to
be the often humiliating ‘means test.’ The
test was to be given to all applicants with the
notion of determining that those hired were, in
fact, in dire straits – of course, reminding
the applicants that this was the case in the process.
But passing the ‘means’ was not meant
to boost morale. That would ideally come with the
previously unemployed working and earning a ‘security
wage.’
All considered, by late-1935 the FWP had over 4,000
employees busily scouring the country and compiling
copy for various projects. In the end it would
become well known that a good deal of the staff
were not writers by trade (a 1938 report would
indicate that only a few hundred had ever pulled
a paycheck via the pen prior to the FWP). It was
also well known that a good deal of those employed
throughout the life of the project should not have
been. But the vast majority – writers or
not – proved up to the challenge, attaining
in the words of Penkower, “a pooling of diverse
accomplishments.”
And so, with research and copy beginning to pour in
from a variety of staff so wide-ranging in background
/ competency / talent, the streamlining effort
of Alsberg’s editors went into full swing.
They would be put to the test.
II : "American Stuff"
Federal One in general, and the FWP specifically,
began with grand, idealistic, perhaps even
naive expectations. But despite the difficulties and
condemnation that were soon to hinder the project,
many of those involved remained true to at least
one ideal: that through their efforts they would
create greater national access to the arts. Penkower
explains that a main goal of FWP directors
would have the project introduce “a writing
style new to America, one ‘restrained and
dignified’ . . .” The overall arts
project focused solely on American themes, whether
natural, cultural, social or historic. An unofficial ‘mission
statement’ of the FWP was to write about
and document “American stuff.” The
reality of the results make the charges of anti-Americanism
levied against the project difficult to justify,
the main evidence to be presented before committees
in 1939 indicative less of a ‘Moscow-based’ Communist
influence, as charged, and more of an ‘arts
activism’ challenging a great country to
be greater. (It’s ironic that the FWP unit
most often cited for Communist sympathies [NYC]
often proved quite dysfunctional, when compared
to other city / state units that escaped scrutiny
but were known to staff card-carrying members.)
Clearly, there were some results more activist
than not; but for the most part project results
were uncontroversial, even tending toward ‘American-centric’ nostalgia.
Bruce Bustard summarizes: “While there
are a few examples of American history being
used to promote reform or even radicalism,
for the most part New Deal art offered clear
examples of community and spotlighted inspirational
heroes for a country in the midst of crisis
and change.”
FWP publications / works not only focused on, but
elevated the diversity of “American stuff.” As
the extensive networks of city / state / national
staff began to fan out and research the material
that would fuel their work, in Penkower’s
words they “began to discover that the
whole country had a rich variety of folk and
folklore only now awakening to discovery.” (An
enduring description is the image provided by
Harvard professor Daniel Fox, writing of FWP
staff whose work took them to all corners of
the country and often found them “bumping
over dusty roads in battered Model A Fords.”)
Preservation was at the root of all efforts.
One of the first FWP sub-projects was devoted
to the preservation of public documents. Taking
the New Mexico and L.A. CWA-era projects national,
the Historical Records Survey was
authorized under the FWP in November 1935. It
would prove efficient, if thinly-staffed. But
as was true of many Federal One sub-projects,
a small often relentless and dedicated staff
would secure enormous returns. Robert McElvaine
notes these contributions and the “huge
amount of raw material that has proved to be
of enormous value to subsequent artists and historians.” (Most
all of this ‘raw material’ is still
available to the public via the National
Archives and Library
of Congress.) The quality of FWP research
would go on to influence other respected sub-projects,
such as the Historic American Buildings Survey (which
continues to operate) and the Index of American
Design, a historical initiative out of The
Federal Art Project that was the first domestic
volume of its kind.
In 1961, Daniel Fox’s mentioned work on
the FWP appeared in the American Quarterly.
Noting that the state guides were and will
always remain central to FWP efforts, he nonetheless
enforces a vital point: that the ‘encyclopedic’ research
efforts of the touring guide teams spun out
equally important, often groundbreaking studies.
Through our own research with InHeritage it’s
clear that ‘social studies’ initiated
under the FWP, FSA / RA and other agencies upended
a lot of long-standing inaccurate understandings
of American life; for instance, the depth of
rural poverty at the time was all but unknown
to most of the nation (the mentioned studies
helping bring this to light much as the plight
of the urban poor had been embedded into the
national conscience a generation before by such
activists as Jacob Riis.) The FWP’s collection
of narrative interviews given by, who were
then, very elderly ex-slaves falls into this
category. They are invaluable. (To read selections,
please visit the Library of Congress “American
Memory” website’s: “Born
in Slavery” [http://memory.loc.gov/ammem/snhtml/snhome.html].)
Negro Studies’ would prove the most revolutionary
of the ‘auxiliary’ sub-projects,
as well as the most groundbreaking copy in the
state guides – thanks largely to the efforts of poet, Sterling Brown, who championed their inclusion.
From 1936-on several key employees would prove
instrumental in helping produce / publish the
ex-slave narratives and dozens of other works on African-American
culture. Chief among them would be Brown, Charles
Johnson of ‘FWP Tennessee’ and a
team of educators in tandem with Dillard University
of New Orleans. In the end charges of “Yankee
bias” would be levied by some southern
whites, and there were instances of actual
bias in the finished copy (this proving without
regional boundaries: portions of the Ohio State Guide and
various city guides often cited). But to scan
the titles published and read selections from
the final results shows that, though frank,
the works were more often objective, even academic
and authoritative, despite an obvious bend
towards ‘folksy.’
The notion of uncovering folk studies / folklore
and documenting social-ethnic history would occupy
centre stage during the Federal One phase
of the FWP (1935-1939). In The New Deal,
Anthony Badger writes: “The Writer’s
Project attempted to capture the folklore culture
of those groups who failed to leave written records
and who historians ignored.” Despite the
labor / union strife that would always plague
the New York City unit, it did manage to promote
tireless professionals who produced. Morton Royse’s
NYC-based ethnic “racial group” studies would
be held up as a standard. A similar project would
take shape in Chicago’s ethnic neighborhoods.
Folk-study professionals John Lomax and Ben Botkin
teamed up to form the FWP’s “Folkways
Project,” which focused on uncovering regional
undocumented tales real and ‘tall.’ McElvaine
records Botkin who said: “history must
study the inarticulate many as well as the articulate
few.” This alongside documenting the American
experience of minority groups would typify the
mixed approach of the FWP’s Folklore
Section. Studies focused on Eastern European immigrants, western copper miners, Utah’s
Mormons, “Yankee Folk,” and San Franciscans, among scores of others.
North Carolina’s William Couch would produce the oral history project “These
Are Our Lives,” which received high praise. The NYC unit would produce “Italians
of New York,” and publish copies in both English and Italian. For
all the accusations of hero-destruction that would fall on the project there
were few publications that didn’t celebrate the legend, true or not. Such
was the case of the Chicago unit’s exploration of that city’s often
exaggerated past in “Baseball in Old Chicago.” Few pastimes
/ regions / ethnic enclaves went unrepresented (one of the few disappointments
being the inability to pull together various Native-American projects, despite
–this in light of the successful African-American projects).
But all told, the diversity of the country’s
character would be thoroughly detailed; and
the respectable sales of FWP publications revealed
a folklore-hungry America. Putting aside state
guides, tour volumes / pamphlets, the final
tally of auxiliary project results totaled
in the area of 150,000 pages of life histories,
14,000 folklore manuscripts, some 3,000 ex-slave
narratives and 1,000 various social-ethnic
studies.
But the constant thread of the FWP’s research
efforts, and the thing that would keep the
vast majority of staff busy, would always be
touring literature and the American Guides Series.
As early as 1936, finished results were beginning
to appear. Though Alsberg had set up regional
directors and there was much talk of regional
guides, they never came to pass. The concentration
would always revolve around states / cities,
the natural project hierarchy. Despite this,
one of the first publications was Katherine
Kellock’s
guide to the “Intracoastal
Waterway.” She would go on to produce
a similar non-state / city volume for “Route
1,” the Atlantic Coast-long roadway.
Evident was her focus on tours “off the
beaten path.” The first ‘volume’ to be completed was the Washington D.C. Guide (“The
City and Capital”). It was massive. Weighing several pounds,
it was almost 1,000 pages long. Heavy on government
background (as well as to carry) the format was
unique when compared to the standard rhythm state
/ city guides would set. It was also unique in
that it would prove one of the few guides actually
published by the government (Government Printing
Office). Realizing the need for haste
and the political benefit of NRA-era cooperation,
Alsberg and others agreed to send publication
of the guides out to bid via the discretion
of state directors. Though this would prove controversial in various occurrences of fraud by state
publishing ‘sponsors’ or ‘committees,’ overall it proved
wise. The majority of contracts were picked up by established firms with the
capacity for large runs, such as Houghton-Mifflin, Viking, MacMillan, Oxford and Hastings
House. Several volumes were often awarded in a single contract. All of the
mentioned houses published multiple volumes. Still, dozens of other contracts
were awarded to small local firms. One of these was the publisher Caxton who
would print the very first state guide.
Vardis Fisher, an established author of historical fiction / westerns and director of the Idaho
state unit, brought a contentious attitude to editorial meetings
with the central staff. He was several times accused
of using the project for his own ends, Fisher
himself often laughing off the D.C. staff as weak-willed.
(His battles with George Cronyn over final state
guide copy would become legendary ‘pissing
matches.’) But Fisher also employed an
obsession in seeing the Idaho State Guide through
to completion. It was the first state guide,
rolling off the presses in January 1937. (To
keep Fisher from unceremoniously resigning his
post [which he threatened to do several times]
the unveiling of the D.C. Guide, though
completed first, was held up so Idaho could
take top honors.) An excerpt of the opening
narrative, taken from Penkower’s Federal
Writers’ Project, shows Fisher’s
colorful style and disdain for popular ‘pulp’ notions
of the West:
The lusty and profane extremes of it still
live nebulously in the gaudy imbecilities of
the newsstand pulp magazines and in cheap novels,
wherein to appease the hunger of human beings
for drama and spectacles, heroines distressingly
invulnerable are fought over by villains and
heroes . . .
The plates of several other guides were already on
the presses. And, already, the frank presentation
of facts was creating ripples. But Alsberg and
the other FWP directors stood their ground before
demands to ‘soften the edges.’ Penkower
writes of how “this more probing self-critical
approach” brought “condemnation of
an emerging new standard.” The condemnation
was thick and undoubtedly led to certain edits
of the more controversial material. But in all,
directors stood fast. The Connecticut director
summed up the firm stance stating, frankly: “Are
the Guides to be concerned only with sweetness
and light?” They would not, to the protest
of chambers of commerce nationwide. This ‘new
standard’ took great care to focus on FWP
folk / ethnic studies in its narrative, as well
as traditionally controversial topics – such
as labor strife (inclusions that would cause much
pain during the 1939 HUAC committee hearings).
In hindsight, state guide narrative appears to
fall in with the larger ‘sea change’ in
historical study / writing at the time. This reinvention,
fronted by such celebrated historians as Richard
Hofstadter, Bruce Catton and C. Vann Woodward,
chose to peer deep beneath the surface, relying
more on archival research and the raw unpolished
fact than the update of national myths. The state
guides helped to instill a more complete rendering
of the American story and did so without dampening
an optimistic, often jovial rhythm.
Though each state was free to tailor copy according to
its specific character / traits, the guides were
true to a standard table of contents. The guides’ opening
narrative detailed a wide array of social / cultural
history, as well as specifics on technology, transportation,
industry / agriculture, arts, architecture, communications,
recreation. The inclusion of natural history was
a unique addition to tour books at the time, WPA
guides including geographical evolution, as well
as the standard geology and flora / fauna. (For
instance, the tourist could read about how Ice
Age glaciers pressed mountainous ranges in Maine
to the water line of the Atlantic, thereby creating
the state’s rocky or “sunken” coast.) A “general background” piece
opened each guide. These were at once soaring lines
of verse and light introductions for the touring
visitor:
From the Georgia Guide’s “Georgians
at Home” . . . Since it may designate
any Georgia citizen or the most slovenly of the
poor-white class, the visitor would be wiser
not to thank his hostess for her delightful cracker
hospitality.
From the Massachusetts Guide’s “Clues
to its Character” . . . To the seeker
of a clue to the character of the Massachusetts
people the rubric of the east wind may be useful
. . . It wafted the first rebels to Cape Cod
. . . It burst forth steadily through most of
the 18th century, when victories were won not
only for political freedom but for educational
and religious toleration.
As mentioned, the most groundbreaking – and
controversial – sections were the ethnic
backgrounds that found their way into the opening
narratives. This was especially true of the sections
devoted to African-Americans. Titled “The
Negro,” the Georgia Guide’s section
is a frank honest assessment. From a modern perspective,
the guides’ studies seem objective, well-researched
and supported by statistics (despite an obvious ‘steering
clear’ of the maladies of a segregated society).
However, in the Jim Crow South such documentation
was, regardless of its accuracy, not entirely welcome.
Inclusion of ‘negro-studies’ confronted
head-on the emotions that the race-issue generated
across the region; and in highlighting groups that “historians
ignored” they also worked to explode popular
but prejudicial myths that had long been accepted
and enabled as fact. It is perhaps the most courageous
product that the various sections of Federal
One would produce – more so given the
fact that it lifted the race-issue out of regional
boundaries and addressed it nationally. The Maine
Guide’s “Racial Elements” seems
tame by title comparison only, but its contents
are equally frank and honest (despite the great
numerical gulf between African-American populations
North and South, and the more direct impact that
played in race relations across the old Confederacy).
Usually topping out at 100 + / - pages, this ‘general’ background
was more than most anyone, in general, had ever
come to understand about the places they visited.
The standard tour-book model at the time had
been imported from Europe to America: the popular Baedeker series
(named for German publisher Karl Baedeker). Concentrating
mainly on populated areas in the U.S. and mainly
in small book / pamphlet form the ‘Baedekers,’ though
sharp touring guides, provided very brief, if
any background. The approach of the WPA Guides was
the very opposite: to re-engage Depression-weary
Americans with their country by sending them
off on their tours with a better understanding
of what they were to see. The narrative fed directly
into the actual tours. These were usually presented
in ‘city’ (or ‘metro’)
and ‘country’ sections, with a level
of detail (including a fold-out map) that at
the very least rivaled Baedeker guides.
Often two-thirds of each finished state guide
was devoted to the individual tours. Depending
on the size of the state, there was an average
of 30-40 tours per guide. Each tour was designed
to take a long afternoon by automobile, including
several stops along the way. In most of the guides,
there was also a ‘recreation’ section.
Its inclusion was driven by publishing firms
weary of the background-heavy approach. It certainly
helped to engage a wider audience while keeping
true to the notion of a more complete rendering
of a particular state’s
character. This was especially true of those
more rugged states where sportsmen and outdoor
recreation were tradition: the Rocky Mountain
states and Alaska, for instance. Alaska, though not yet a state, did see a WPA Guide published – as
did the U.S. territory: Puerto Rico. The state guide volumes
would be augmented by hundreds of additional
touring volumes / pamphlets published on behalf
of city tours. The New Orleans guide is often
singled out as one of the best. Overall, the
FWP would issue nearly 300 volumes (including
state guides) and over 1,000 pamphlets dedicated
to the ‘educated
tour.’ They were in the words of Bruce
Bustard, “the
first attempt at comprehensively describing the
history and culture of the 48 states for a popular
audience.”
The state guides rolled off the presses with consistency
throughout the remainder of the decade, most
often doing so to great praise. The Massachusetts
Guide was one of the first of the region
to premier, but did so inside a highly publicized
controversy. The state governor, Charles Hurley,
who had obviously not read the guide, initially
lauded the accomplishment. He was soon after
informed of the guide’s honest frank approach to the
state’s history. (This included detailed
descriptions of the infamous Sacco / Vanzetti anarchist
case and several vicious strikes.) Hurley, not
pleased with honesty over boosterism, threatened
to scrap the entire first run. Foreshadowing an
accusation that would soon doom the entire section,
he levied accusations of Communism at the very
mention of anything not sanitized and ‘gleaming.’ Revisions
were suggested. Alsberg and the other directors
stood their ground, approving very few. Hurley,
perhaps having scored the political points he was
after, relented. The guide was soon garnering very
favorable reviews. It would prove one of the most
successful of the state volumes. All six of the
New England state guides came out in close proximity
to one another. Penkower documents their receiving “almost
unqualified praise.” Very few of the guides
would not be met with, at least, in-state pride.
(Both of the Dakota guides, each state suffering
the earlier mentioned lack of qualified personnel,
are often singled out as weaker than most.) Bruce
Catton labeled the New Mexico Guide “a
first rate job.” The National Education
Association began to recommend state guides. The
New Republic, The Nation, Time and
the New Yorker magazines included several
volumes in their yearly “best of” lists.
Even anti-New Deal newspapers: The New York
Herald Tribune and Baltimore Sun,
awarded the guides praise. Penkower notes that
both “blasted away at the WPA on page one
and heaped laurels on [the guides] in the book
review section.” The proof of the worth of
the FWP could be made solely on the titanic achievement
of publishing an encyclopedic touring guide for
each of the 48 states and major U.S. territories
inside of six years (the final guides completed
in 1941 under direction of Alsberg’s successor,
John Newson). But in the end partisan politics,
not the catalog of FWP publications, would prove
the arbiter of the project’s worth.
There was one more piece to the already sprawling depth
of the FWP. Though it would always be given ‘niche’ status
within the section, FWP personnel would manage
to write and publish a good deal of creative
writing. As it turned out the FWP would in the
end contain some serious talent, many of whom
thought the work of the guides dull and unsatisfying.
In all FWP literary works seemed a mixed bag.
Some pieces received critical praise. Others
were panned. The most prevalent form of publication
was the literary journal. Most of these would
include both short fiction and non-fiction essays
(given the sheer amount of solid work pouring
in from the field). The national office encouraged
state / city units to pursue journals wherever
they could be supported. “Material
Gathered” and “The Coast” began
the trend by compiling work from staff of the west
coast units. Several state units had brief (some
claim forgettable) journal runs, among them: Alabama,
Nebraska, New Jersey, New Mexico, Pennsylvania,
South Dakota and Vermont. The FWP would have success,
albeit limited, with the publication of national
journals (perhaps realizing the power of “pooling
diverse accomplishments.”) “Direction” would
be the first success of the initiative. This
would lead to the literary publication for which
the FWP would be remembered. Appropriately titled: “American
Stuff,” its first printing included
a challenging autobiographical essay by a young
African-American writer out of the Chicago unit
on the effects of ‘Jim Crow.’ The
author was Richard Wright and the positive attention
he received would launch his impressive career.
Despite the success of the first runs of these journals
and another volume dedicated to poetry and verse, ‘literature’ would
take a back-seat to completing the Guide Series.
This became even more common as Roosevelt, in
the face of the anti-New Dealers’ successful
attempts to chip away at WPA appropriations,
began to initiate cut-backs during the late 1930s
for fear of deficit spending. This forced budget
cuts and several phases of Federal One layoffs
(called “being 403’d,” the code
for the federal pink slip). The ‘literary
focus’ gained a brief respite with the
publication of “Story.” Born out of an
internal FWP writing contest (and judged by a panel
of professionals outside the project that included
Sinclair Lewis) its contents again featured the
rising star, Richard Wright, as well as a short
novel by another young writer, Meridel LeSeuer.
Yet in the end, most of the literary journals would
see no more than a single issue. Due to a need
to produce ‘functional’ product so
as to survive in the face of skeptics, creative
writing would prove a minor component of the
FWP. In contrast to The Federal Art Project section
of Federal One, which contained a robust ‘fine
arts’ initiative, Penkower summarizes: “The
FWP had limited value for professional writers.”
Regardless,
the FWP’s staff rolls were filled with the
names of some of that generation’s sharpest
talent. If not involved in creative / narrative
writing, the FWP nonetheless helped them hone
and keep up skills that would shape the results
of noteworthy careers. Several unit directors
were already, or on their way to being well-established: Vardis Fisher, as mentioned,
Conrad Aiken in Massachusetts, John Cheever and
Orrick Johns in New York, John Conroy in St.
Louis, Dorothy Fisher in Vermont, the celebrated
Kansas newspaper editor William Allen White,
and Douglas Southall Freeman in Virginia, who
would go on to a distinguished career as a historian.
But the rolls of the regular staff turns up an
equally impressive list: Maxwell Bodenheim, Ralph
Ellison, Nelson Algren, Kenneth Rexroth, Richard
Wright, Zora Neale Hurston, Studs Terkel and
Saul Bellow. Bellow, who recalled his time on
the project favorably (unlike Algren who remembered
the Illinois unit to which he was attached as
a “badly fink-ridden
operation”) would go on to win the Nobel
Prize for Literature. Richard Wright would
win tremendous recognition for his courageous
best-selling work of fiction, “Native Son,” which
is still revered as a classic. He along with
six other former FWP staffers would go on to
win Guggenheim fellowships, one of the most prestigious
achievements in American letters.
If the final results of The Federal Writers’ Project during
the Federal One period say anything,
it is that the section was prolific in a way
few Americans rarely attribute to Federal government
agencies. In its brief life, the FWP cranked
out over 12 million words that eventually found
their way to print.
III : Politics
One of the greatest obstacles the Federal
Writers’ Project faced was the
tentative, often hostile way it was viewed
by WPA directors at the state level. Several
administrators demanded that they be the
ultimate authority of state FWP units; in
Penkower’s words, they would “tolerate
this sideshow only if control rested in their
hands.” Though the Federal One period
of the FWP would be marked by a central control
what often amounted to the expectation of
local control, ‘regardless of what
D.C. said,’ would lead to several instances
of directors attempting to utilize the writers’ efforts
for their own political benefits (the Missouri
project often held up as an example of such
insider-manipulation). As minimal as this
was in the overall picture, it still provided
grist for those who believed the entire venture
nothing but a leftist propaganda mill . .
. The FWP rose out of a political mandate;
and the more unsavory side of partisan politics
would dog it throughout its existence. A
main deciding factor in choosing the state
guide format was to assuage skeptics by producing
works that could be embraced despite political
affiliation. But even the general ‘common
man’ / American-centric approach was
not enough.
The
WPA had blocs of enemies and the specific
notion of subsidizing artists / writers drew
unbalanced condemnation when compared to
the criticism of the WPA generally. (Whereas
detractors marketed the notion of WPA laborers
as ‘shovel-leaners,’ FWP staff
was likewise tagged as lazy ‘pen-chewers.’)
Alsberg and the rest of the central staff’s
firm stance against chamber-of-commerce style
edits only expanded the grumbling. It can
be said that local city / town guides and
pamphlets often fell into the booster rhythm;
but the more local the focus, the more often
a guide will lean towards the ‘touristy’ and
return-on-investment expectations of local
sponsors. Still, the publications of the
FWP would elevate narrative over advertising
and prove more inclusive than not. The research,
studies and guides of the project ‘pooled
the vast diversity’ of a politically
disparate, yet ‘United’ States
and turned out a more complete rendering
in the process . . . But you can’t
please everyone. A few driven detractors
would mount a public campaign against Federal
One and the FWP specifically. Though
the project would continue to produce critically-received
publications throughout its life, the charges
levied by opponents would bring an end to
the WPA arts project.
In
FWP units across the country, the bureaucracy
of the program left a predictably acrid aftertaste.
Anthony Badger recounts the constant re-organization,
shifting rules, regulations and the paperwork
it created as a never-ending spool of red-tape.
Often thrust on the directors, the wearing
effect it had when passed to employees – who
were busy enough cranking out millions of
pages of research / copy under deadlines – could
not be quelled via the ‘absentee-leadership’ that
would define Alsberg’s style. Ideally,
FWP employees were not hired to fill administrative
roles or file paperwork. But the self-interested
demands of employees in answering the demands
of bureaucracy, and the editorial micro-managing
of central staff, didn’t help matters.
Internal battles within the big city units
arose immediately . . . In-fighting is an
inevitable by-product of large productions
employing scores of employees. Someone is
bound to run afoul of procedures or take offense
at a opinion, etc. Such was the case with
the dysfunctional NYC FWP unit. The big cities
were not wont for individuals who had once
earned a living in the writing / journalism
/ publishing fields, especially those who
had done so on a freelance basis. In New
York City, these numbers were so high that
several unions rose up to support the unemployed.
The Unemployed Writers Association,
later re-cast as the Writers Union,
was the most active. Its members filled out
the roles of the NYC FWP and would cause
much unwanted discomfort and publicity for
Alsberg, the central staff, and local directors.
Almost immediately the Union went
head-to-head with the Authors League,
a well-established (often viewed as haughty)
organization whose members had pushed the
Roosevelt administration for Federal support
of a subsidized writers’ program back
in 1934. Though the public scrap was over
qualifications (the League taking
Mencken’s lead in tagging Union members
as less-than-deserving), the real battle
was over control of the NYC unit. And given
that indeed more Union members were
unemployed, the Writers Union became
the dominant source of employees. It would
be the Union’s prickly relations
with just about everyone that brought on
the unwanted, eventually toxic publicity.
Leftist agitators clearly influenced their
approach, infusing an attitude of ‘revolt
for revolt’s sake.’ That this
was a relief project meant to move government
wards back into the workforce often escaped Union members
in the NYC FWP, who seemed so willing to
do battle with their federal stewards that
they would in time directly contribute to
the whole thing being dissolved. In 1937,
they were the driving force behind sit-down
strikes they hoped to take nationwide (from “Boston,
Massachusetts, to Portland, Oregon”)
in response to layoffs, a result of Congress’s
first major appropriations cutback of Federal
One funds. The strikes went so far in
achieving hoped-for publicity that they induced
a self-fulfilling prophecy. When the House
Committee on Un-American Activities (HUAC)
began its inquiry of the project in 1938,
testimony documenting the leftist-influenced
strikes was held up front-and-center. The Writers
Union soon found most of its FWP employees
unemployed instead of just the initial round
of those ‘403’d.’ Instead
of walking out by choice, they were walked
out by a mandate from Congress.
In
hindsight, it’s hard to determine what
exactly the Union and like groups
sought to accomplish. Even then, their leaders
had to realize the more accepting Roosevelt
administration was the only government entity
who cared enough to see its members, regardless
of political affiliation, back at work in
the field they desired. But perhaps motivations
did rest more with causing disruption as
a matter of course; for that is all they
accomplished. And even this did not hold
back others within the unit. NYC FWP still
managed to produce despite the disruptions.
As mentioned, Morton Royse’s work set
standards for social-ethnic studies, while
the New York City American Guide Series volume
arrived to critical acclaim and in time to
make a big splash at the renowned 1939 World’s
Fair. The existence of American Communists
amongst the NYC unit and other city / state
units is irrefutable. But any study must
weigh actions versus the end results. Controversial
history and propaganda are often taken as
one-in-the-same when passed through a political
filter. And in the 1930s, anti-New Deal congressmen
viewed any mention of labor history as proof
of Communist infiltration. That the history
of American labor movements and its European
counterparts were often divergent, and that
a majority of American socialists at the
time were disgusted by the brutal turn the
U.S.S.R. had taken (much the way Americans
who had fervently supported the French Revolution
150 years earlier came to view that revolution’s
bloody excesses) proved immaterial to adversaries
of the New Deal. Federal One opponents
had a single goal in mind. Controversial
content could be re-packaged to make their
political point. HUAC members would carefully
select specific passages from the guides
in stringing together their prosecution of
the arts program. The final copy of FWP units
known to employ ‘radicals’ included
challenges to the traditional historical
script. Of this there is no doubt. But it
took politics to spin different and controversial
into ‘anti’ or ‘un-American.’
In
the end, the main result of Communist influence
on the FWP was the administrative hassles
they caused. Pressure from Alsberg, who was
rightly questioned for his weakness in the
face of endless disruptions, might have caused
agitators to seek other outlets. But so long
as there were layoffs, they kept at it .
. . The actions of the more radical Union members
seems so short-sighted it makes a rational
person scratch their head. For each public
outcry or strike led directly to additional
cutbacks and the further mobilization of
anti-New Deal enemies who sought to dissolve
the project for good.
Another
more sinister trait that put crosshairs on
the arts projects was the prejudice of the
era. Anti-Semitism had pinpointed the WPA
for political harassment since its inception,
the New Deal itself often referred to as
the “Jew Deal” by opponents then
operating in D.C. Yet it was less the energies
of anti-Semites and more the fanatic resolve
of segregationist politics that worked to
discredit Federal One. Anthony Badger
reminds us: “The arts projects did
blur the color line.” Though African-American
employees were mostly attached to the city
units and the overall percentage of black
artists was small, they were nonetheless
on the official rolls and were provided institutional
support. (Where else could Richard Wright
have found such backing for his work: “The
Ethics of Living Jim Crow,” a
direct challenge of the ‘institution.’)
Such support by a government agency was no
small matter in the 1930s. To those politicians
who had made a career of defending racist
social codes, the fluid mostly color-blind
mixture of black and white artists within
the various sections of Federal One was
a high cultural crime. It is hard to separate
those critics driven by fear of Communist
infiltration in the program and those who
just couldn’t stand for the notion
of federal dollars subsidizing artists of
a race they deemed inferior. Public charges
always leaned on Communism and ‘radicalism.’ Yet
a more concentrated look finds this charge
just as often a red herring used to generate
public outcry against a program so progressive
in promoting African-American talent. By
invoking Communism and fear of a state-controlled
media (a fear made real by Hitler’s
Third Reich, as well as Stalin’s Russia)
New Deal opponents found ample opportunity
to discredit a program that, through example,
showcased equality of the races not just
possible, but practical. There is little
doubt that such root inspiration guided noted
segregationists in Congress as they lined
up behind the ‘red menace’ campaign.
Their public denunciations ranged between
rabid fear-mongering to open mocking. It
all seems motivated more by opinion-poll
opportunism than any patriotic intent. In
fact, spin via public relations seems all
that detractors had. Any attempt to demonstrate
the FWP’s uselessness was proven very
difficult given the mountainous stacks of
research and publications produced versus
the minimal government funding spent to produce
it.
Chamber-of-commerce
boosters had always topped the list of FWP’s
detractors. They held that FWP directors
had spurned their desire to utilize the project
for commercial advertising in favor of dull
histories and natural facts. Bruce Bustard
gives insight into this thinking, noting
one tourism group who loudly denounced the
project’s “efforts to tear down
traditional heroes and popular legends.” Anti-New
Deal politicians were on the hunt for anything
that may bring political harm to the FWP;
and they picked up on this conflict. Whether
their motivations were commercial or social
supremacy, calls soon echoed long and far
on the need to scrutinize and if need be
hound the writers’ program lest it
be “prostituted for propaganda purposes.” The
worry embedded in this charge is political:
less a fear of cultural infiltration via
the Kremlin and more the FWP’s use
as a public relations tool for the New Deal.
Robert McElvaine summarizes the position
of New Deal opponents: “as Washington
began playing ‘the pianist’ it
would want to call the tune.” There
is no doubt that a good deal of Federal
One art tipped its cap to its patron.
But that it was a planned campaign instituted
by FDR to advance an ideology runs counter
to the independent-streak of the final results.
It was a complicated political charge to
make anyway as Roosevelt and his New Deal
still enjoyed general support. A close look
reveals little substance to the charge (a
reality put on display during the one-sided
HUAC hearings). Creative themes were more
rooted in the American people than its political
landscape, Bruce Bustard stating that the
most prevalent focus was on “the strength
and dignity of common men and women, even
as they faced difficult circumstances.” It
was less the triumph of the New Deal and
more the eventual triumph of the American
spirit that poured through. Opponents had
to realize a direct political challenge to
this “democratization of arts” would
surely backfire. And so, it was pushed aside
in favor of the ‘Communist tag.’ Opponents
could inflict more damage by working on public
fears. A ‘red scare’ would deliver
more ‘bang for the buck’ . .
. That FWP publications were tagged as potential
sources of propaganda by those whose motivations
were to use the writers’ program to
their own commercial / political benefit – on
the taxpayer’s dime – is great
irony; and just another in a litany of political
motivations that proved unwilling to co-exist
with this ‘new writing style.’
By
the end of the decade, the campaign to discredit Federal
One generally and the FWP specifically
kicked into high gear. Legislators in opposition
were hard at work. By the middle of June
1938 a House committee overseeing ‘ways & means’ was
successful in shifting a major source of
WPA funds to PWA construction projects, thus
starving the agency’s ability to keep Federal
One afloat. The results were cutbacks
and layoffs. Only once was a major defense
of the WPA arts program mounted by legislators.
This was the Coffee-Pepper Bill introduced
in 1938. Its goal was to elevate the notion
of the federally-subsidized arts beyond a
temporary program and create a permanent
Federal Arts Bureau (along the lines of the
modern NEA). Predictably, the bill was handily
defeated with at least one congressman ridiculing
the bill during debate by performing his
own mocking rendition of ballet.
By
late 1938, conservative politicians sensed
the opportunity to close in. Martin Dies,
congressman from Texas and vocal critic of
the New Deal, had opened investigations into
the arts programs the previous year. Information
gathered was funneled into the 1938 / 1939
House Committee on Un-American Activities
hearings . . . The opportunity for publicity-achieved
by those in opposition throughout these hearings
must be considered up front, if for no other
reason than it was disgruntled FWP employees
that helped spur HUAC to investigate. In
reading the minutes of the hearings, the
settling of a grudge or advancement of a
political career seems fairly transparent.
What is wholly absent is the perception of ‘innocent
until proven guilty.’ On the contrary,
those in opposition had already made up their
mind. It has been argued that the charges
brought against the arts program would not
have withstood the factual scrutiny of an
actual trial: hence the choice of a public
condemnation and financial constriction instead.
The main goal of these hearings was to create
an unfavorable public image of the program.
The testimony was prejudicial against Federal
One and FWP, and often presented
without opportunity for rebuttal. The firebrand
Dies even went so far as to claim certain
FWP staff-members were “mentally handicapped.”
Louise
Lazell was one of the chief ‘witnesses’ cited
by Dies. Lazell had held the post of ‘policy
editor’ for the FWP’s central
office, a position created so as to, ironically,
curb some of the more controversial material
in FWP drafts. The need for editors to cut
passages they felt too slanted or substitute
words that would smooth the more sensitive
of sensibilities was necessary, if for no
other reason than to keep the narrative quick
and light, as well as informative. Edits
were performed by all central office editors – from
Alsberg on down – in the face of inaccurate,
controversial, or just bad writing (of which
there was plenty). But Lazell was soon being
blamed for going too far. She was involved
in numerous attempts to curb most all controversial
material that came before her. From substituting ‘chastity’ with ‘celibacy,’ objecting
to references to the Ku Klux Klan, or the
desire to strike copy on the infamous machinations
of Tammany Hall, Lazell staked out a position
that upheld only the “sweetness and
light.” This was bound to run head-long
into a focus that, for all its edits, was
out to correct misconceptions popularized
as fact. Several of Lazell’s edits
were ignored. Despite the vast majority of
Lazell’s edits bearing her stamp on
final copy, Lazell claimed that without the
last word her authority was being undermined.
She went to HUAC to protest the project’s ‘un-American’ content.
It
would be the inclusion of labor histories
over everything else that proved the salient ‘proof’ for
anti-New Dealers that the whole FWP was a
Communist front. Conversations with a left-labor
organization from Tacoma, Washington, and
Minnesota’s CIO over central office
edits were brought up as examples of the
FWP’s leftist patronage. The fact that
requests by both these groups to re-insert
questionable copy were denied and that the
central office edits stood in the final versions,
were not entered into the Dies committee’s
minutes. The end results were not as important
as highlighting the possibility of a Communist
link. This would prove a favored tactic.
Penkower records the instance of ‘pro-labor’ copy
in New Jersey’s guide being “cherry-picked” and
presented out of context by HUAC. Conservative
staff from Princeton got behind the charge,
as did anti-New Deal newspapers – who
began to trumpet HUAC’s hearings and
the skewering it was giving the FWP and Federal
One. Additional former employees were
brought before the committee and supplied
Dies with what he wanted to hear: charges
of card-carrying Communists within the FWP
ranks, financial rewards for published copy
sympathetic to ‘red’ causes,
etc. The D.C. Guide was fingered
for its “insidious propaganda” A
similar fate fell on several of FWP’s
creative writing journals, “Direction” and
its flagship: “American Stuff.” The
word ‘subversion’ became a public
talking-point that opponents of the FWP hung
on the project. The confident and belligerent
Dies was no wallflower before the spotlight.
He was in the vanguard of the assault. Penkower
records Dies’ claim that the FWP “was
doing more to spread Communist propaganda
than the Communist Party itself,” Anthony
Badger including Dies’ public comment
that “the material in the State Guides
was tailored to the [Soviet] party line.”
The
Dies HUAC hearings produced a negative public
opinion onslaught. The impressive end results
of the FWP were kept at arms-length. Had
examples been introduced in a contextual
way, it seems likely the hearings would have
been exposed for their partisan ends. Penkower
and others make the point: if the FWP was
nothing but a Communist front for Soviet
propaganda, as charged, then why the focus
on the most dysfunctional FWP employees (with
an axe-to-grind, many of who had been fired);
why rely on certain out-of-context interpretations
of copy to make the case? Instead, one could
figure that the results of the more streamlined
proficient units and ‘smoking gun’ references
in final copy – instances that could
actually pose an organized national security
threat – would draw the main focus
of HUAC. Both the state units of Massachusetts
and Minnesota were known to contain American
Communists. But both escaped condemnation
in lieu of two of the finer state guide volumes
the FWP would produce. And therein lay the
problem in viewing the HUAC hearings as anything
other than a partisan tool. The hearings
pointed out dysfunction and internal squabbles
within the NYC, Los Angeles, Chicago and
Oregon units, yet failed to give voice to
how impressive the vast majority of other
units had proven to be – or how the
project produced on the whole. The hearings
stitched together examples of what was deemed ‘propaganda,’ without
explaining how they may have advanced the
Communist cause in the U.S. As many have
surmised, the evidence before these hearings
was presented solely to effect public opinion,
not as a utility in establishing truth beyond
a reasonable doubt. Had such been the case,
the example of the Massachusetts and Minnesota’s
end results alone would have shot enough
holes in the theory to have achieved a dismissal.
Attempts to unionize amongst FWP units were
prevalent and driven by organizations known
to have domestic Communist links. But in
a nation dedicated to political liberty any
instance of government-sanctioned censorship
must prove a perceived cultural danger not
through ideological speculation, but the
end results of actions. Did the FWP disseminate
Communist propaganda, or simply present a
more honest interpretation of history? Only
the first question was ever asked by the
committee members, who then produced little
more than speculative ‘proof’ to
back their claims. The committee failed to
show a real threat. Penkower states: the
issue was not “the number of party
members or sympathizers . . . but whether
their ideology interfered with their duties
as federal employees. . . . A distinction
must be drawn between ideology and the actual
performance of Communists on the FWP.” This
was never considered. Had the full question
been asked and examined, the positives of
the section’s results – despite
the appearance of political leftists on its
rolls – would have shown through.
Still,
the most negative of HUAC’s public
claims took their effect; this in lieu of
the fact that on those rare occasions Federal
One directors were called to testify
before the committee they held their own.
WPA director Ellen Woodward (by default a
director of Federal One) did so
in December 1938. Woodward countered what
she and most of the other project heads viewed
as a ‘witch hunt’ set in motion
for political, not patriotic reasons. Woodward
calmly explained her “deep concern
and disappointment over the very un-American” approach
applied by Dies and HUAC. Of the four Federal
One sections, it was the Federal
Theatre Project that fell under the
most glaring light (the project providing
starts for no less important heavy-weights
than John Houseman and Orson Welles). Director
of the FTP, Hallie Flanagan, was not afraid
of producing potentially controversial work;
and proved unafraid to go toe-to-toe with
the committee. The FWP was second on the
committee’s ‘hit-list’ and
took its share of abuse.
The
rare appearances of Woodward, Flanagan and
others give a glimpse into the hearings that
could have been: keeping the focus of ‘taxpayer-worth’ out
of the political arena and using the measuring
stick of quality and volume versus the time
and subsidy provided. But the intent of congressional
hearings often affords little more than a
partisan political outcome. Such was the
Dies’ committee of 1938 / early 1939.
The point was to build public support for
legislation that would cut WPA appropriations
and starve the ‘arts relief’ program.
Anthony Badger reiterates: “Conservative
critics always regarded the arts projects
. . . as unnecessary and wasteful,” and
it was their intent, despite the general
popularity of Federal One productions,
to under-fund as a way to undercut the project’s
resourcefulness. Whether the root reason
was a waste of taxpayer dollars, a fear of
Communism, white-on-black racism, the notion
of the arts as ‘not real work,’ or
the settling of a grudge – by chamber
of commerce boosters or the disgruntled vents
of fired employees – the opponents
of Federal One / FWP could agree
on one thing: so long as the project was
dismantled, the end results would justify
whatever means were used. It seemed, the
more embarrassing and prejudicial, the better.
In 1939 another rabid anti-New Dealer, Clifton
Woodrum headed a House Committee that picked
up where Dies left off. Woodrum launched
a follow-up investigation into the WPA generally,
but focused a great deal of air-time on Federal
One. It was more of the same: “an
unnecessary boondoggle” that produced “salacious
material.” Committee testimony even
included the ‘charge’ that “blacks
and whites worked together.”
And
yet despite all the inflammatory prejudicial
rhetoric, the damage inflicted was to the
public image of Federal One, not
any members of these committees. (Many were
actually lauded for their patriotic intent.)
By mid 1939 appropriations were cut to the
bone. Federal One and its central
office were dissolved and the FTP was shut
down for good. The other three sections and
a good deal of the funding responsibilities
were turned over to state control. Given
the beatings the FWP took on-or-around the
accusations of Communist propaganda, it is
surprising that the writers’ project
wasn’t also shut down. But for the
state guides, it might have been. For all
the vitriol, the touring guides were very
popular and a source of national, state and
local pride. Such powerful groups as the American
Hotel Association and other tourist-based
organizations lobbied in favor of the FWP
and perhaps had a hand in holding off its
extinction. But opposition politics had won
the day. The Federal Writers’ Project would
die slowly over the next four years.
Conclusion:
Anthony Badger summarizes: “Federal One illustrated
not only the WPA’s capacity to respond
boldly and imaginatively to real need, but
also the conflicting demands of relief and
quality, the inhibiting effect of bureaucracy
and spending cuts, the problems of localism,
and the long term failure of the programme
to achieve legitimacy in the face of congressional
attacks on waste and radicalism.” As
a piece of the overall project, this is also
the story of The Federal Writers’ Project .
. . It is a difficult venture to break new
ground. But the FWP did that and more. It
did not bend before criticism and water down
its content into “chamber of commerce
twaddle” (a colorful label coined by
Montana’s FWP director). The FWP took
advantage of a unique era full of unique
cultural circumstances to push the notion
of documented America in a more honest direction,
Penkower commenting on the mission inspired
by a “deliberate attempt to counteract
the bias of ill-informed popular sentiment.” Despite
the political attacks, the project refused
to simply re-hash myths / legends into a
modern auto-touring format. Instead, it held
up a mirror (and a rear-view mirror) and
urged all Americans to acknowledge the country
for what it was, good and bad – a great
nation in the “continuous process of
discovery and realization.”
John
Newson took over from Alsberg in 1939 as
the director of the renamed: Writers’ Program.
It was from then out to be overseen by the Library
of Congress, its main goal to finish
work not yet complete. With the new state-level
focus, the able Newson sent several editors
out across the country to help the various
units complete their guides. This was accomplished
in time for the American Booksellers
Association’s “State Guide
Week.” From November 10-16, 1941, the
main component of the FWP was given its due.
The researching, writing, publishing of over
a thousand tour guides, of which nearly 300
were full volumes, within six years (not
to mention the prolific pile of social-ethnic
/ folklore studies, creative writing and
surveys) was at least for that one week acknowledged
for the accomplishment that it was. But with
the bombing of Pearl Harbor, the focus of
the staff that remained was shifted – along
with everything else – to support the
war effort. This would be the Program’s focus
until it was disbanded for good in 1943.
Like
the New Deal itself, part of the success or
failure of the individual programs that made
up the Roosevelt administration’s approach
will always remain a matter of opinion. But
in the case of The Federal Writers’ Project such
a subjective yardstick becomes inadequate.
Its vast accomplishments have been well-documented.
Alongside the FWP’s functional
inspiration of fending off ‘the erosion
of skill’ (whether the majority of FWP
employees were writers or not) and moving government
wards back into working positions, it’s
hard to claim failure outside of the constraint
of partisan politics. It will always be the
FWP’s conservation and interpretation
of the vast fabric of the social / cultural
/ natural that stands the test of time. Though
the tours are outdated the narrative of the
guides still reads as fine literature today,
Bruce Bustard of NARA reminding us that many
are still considered “classics.” The
general focus on touring, wherever it was,
led to an awakening of regional pride, understanding – and
perhaps even conscience. The array of ethnic
/ folklore studies that made up the sub-projects
still provide solid background in their fields
(HABS: the Historic American Building Survey,
still a highly respected preservation agency,
70 years later). And the fact that a trip to
any antiquarian bookseller can turn up a ‘who’s
who’ of era-writers related to the FWP
is proof that, select as it was, the project
proved plenty helpful to several career writers
(Richard Wright’s Pulitzer Prize and
Saul Bellow’s Nobel Prize example
enough). That the writers’ project boldly
blazed a new way to view an old story and rendered
defunct the old way in the process made for
many disgruntled opinions that over the years
simmered opinions into ‘fact.’ But
this new style was no abstract pursuit. The
FWP did achieve what Penkower calls its “promise
of a new national art.” It fostered a
new emerging school of thought and made this
a general cause. It advanced the underlying
mission of Federal One and the Roosevelt
administration’s desire to see “a
more abundant life” for all. Perhaps
this is its greatest legacy: moving ‘the
arts’ beyond a privileged realm, creating
it on such a scale that all Americans were
provided the opportunity to enjoy the finer
things. And if such esoteric praise does not
secure the project’s success, then we
can always fall back on the “seven 12
foot high shelves” at the Department
of the Interior that were jammed full of FWP
material in the project’s wake, prior
to it all being moved to the Library of
Congress and National Archives. The
Federal Writers’ Project produced
like few other government agencies before or
since. At a total cost of just over $27,000,000
(spread thinly over eight years), it must be
considered one of the most proficient returns
on the American taxpayers’ investment.
That a first printing of the Idaho volume can
still fetch $600.00 today is proof of its lasting
impression.
IV : BIBLIOGRAPHY
Primary Document:
- Federal Emergency Relief Act (1933)
- National Industrial Recovery Act (1933)
- Emergency Relief Appropriations Act (1935)
- Historic Sites, Buildings, and Antiquities Act (1935)
- House Committee on Un-American Activities (1939)
Online:
- National Archives and Records Administration [nara.gov]
- The Library of Congress : “American Memory” [memory.loc.gov/ammem/]
- The U.S. Senate : WPA State Guides [senate.gov/reference/resources]
- The New Deal Network : “Document Library” [newdeal.feri.org/]
- Bienes Center for the Literary Arts [co.broward.fl.us/library/bienes_exhibitions.htm]
- “The FWP,” by Petra Schindler-Carter [personal.umich.edu/~pscarter/fwp.html]
- Wikipedia [wikipedia.org/wiki/Federal_Writers'_Project]
Publications:
- The Achievement of the Federal Writer’s Project, Daniel M. Fox; American Quarterly, Vol. 13, No. 1 (Spring, 1961), pp. 3-19
- Badger, Anthony J. The New Deal, ‘The Great Depression Years, 1933-1940.’ Chicago, Ivan R. Dee: 1989.
- Bindas, Kenneth. All of this Music Belongs to the Nation. Knoxville, TN, University off Tennessee Press: 1995.
- Bustard, Bruce. A New Deal for the Arts. Seattle, NARA / University of Washington Press: 1997.
- McElvaine, Robert S. The Great Depression, ‘America, 1929-1941.’ New York, Times Books / Random House: 1993.
- McKinzie, Richard D. The New Deal for Artists. Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press: 1973.
- Penkower, Monty Noam. The FWP, ‘A Study of Government Patronage of the Arts.’ Chicago, University of Illinois Press: 1977
- O’Connor, John & Lorraine Brown. Free, Adult, Uncensored, ‘The Living History of the Federal Theatre Project.’ Washington D.C., New Republic Books: 1978.
- The American Guide Series: Connecticut [Houghton-Mifflin], Delaware [Viking Press], Florida [Oxford Press], Georgia [University of Georgia], Massachusetts [Houghton-Mifflin], Maine [Houghton-Mifflin], Minnesota [Viking Press], New Orleans City Guide [Houghton-Mifflin], Tennessee [State of Tennessee], Washington, City and Capital [G.P.O.]
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