Press Blog

CLIFFORD A. PREVOST of the Detroit Free Press was elected president for the year 1942. He swept into the Presidency unopposed. As soon, it might be said, as the games were open, members of the Club began entering various branches of the armed services. Some, like Paul McGahan, of the Philadelphia Inquirer, already were in the service with World War I records.

The year was a busy one for the Club but the most spectacular event was Empire Day, celebrated at the suggestion of Major J. Stewart Richardson.

Where the United States entered the war, every nation in the British Empire sent some sort of a mission to Washington. The British Ambassador, the Ministers of Canada, Australia and South Africa, the Agent General for India, were here with their suites, largely in a great variety of uniforms.

Beginning at noon, the Empire Day party continued throughout the day and evening without interruption, the Club alive with the brilliant uniforms of the Imperial officers. As background music for much of the time, a pipe-major of the Gordon Highlanders strode up and down piping strathspeys and pibrochs and even coronachs. Other music filled the gaps, including Mr. Provost's singing of of the Maple Leaf Forever the national song of Canada, his homeland.

A circumstance that contributed to the gaiety of Empire Day was the purchase by President Provost and the Bar Committee of an unusual cellar of whisky. They had received word of a wholesaler who would be glad to dispose of a rich supply. With a prescient gift, Cliff Prevost and Bob Litchfield foresaw that the rigors of war would bring stringency at the bar. It required unexampled pressure to induce the Board to invest some $40,000, but the effort was successful and the Club came into possession of more Scotch than was held by any other bar and probably any dealer in Washington. Building engineers were called in to determine if the Club floor would sustain such a weight. Government rationing soon befell as had been foreseen by these wise men, with the result that Club members were besieged by envious Scotch-bibbers.

Felix T. Cotton of Tylertown Miss., became president for 1943. Mr. Cotten had been a university friend of George Stimpson and, at the time of his election, was a reporter specializing on economic affairs for the Inter- national News Service.

Mr. Cotton's election to the presidency was unopposed although he had had a close race the previous year for the vice presidency, defeating Morris Erwin of the Cincinnati Times-Star by only three votes.

For some time now, Club presidents after serving their year, moved on to the Advisory Committee, sort of an escalator to elder-statesmen oblivion. Not so in the case of Mel Christenson. Mel is one who came back. The Club's manager quit about the time Felix Cotten took office. Running a club in this day of rationing and war-footing was no easy chore. Mr. Cotten persuaded the '41 president to accept the chairmanship of the House Committee and to take on the responsibilities of the manager until the present manager, James B. Montfort joined the stair. Thanks to "Chris" the transition was orderly and businesslike.

From Pearl Harbor onward, the news tension at Washington mounted and, inevitably, centered largely at the Club. Writing later in the book "Dateline: Washington," Lyle Wilson observed: " … the capital press corps took up its biggest job. For some the job would be to learn what it is to die. For others it would be to suffer despair, discomfort and great fear to send the story back. For those who stayed in Washington the job was to cover the biggest story up to now, to cover it under the rules of censorship, sometimes under the galls of officious official stupidity, always under pressure of edition time."

Early in the war the Navy took many a severe beating and was in bad odor from the public relations point of view. Naval officers, like most military men, were suspicious of the press. It was at the Club that an arrangement was made to accomplish what was deemed impossible. Admiral King, the Chief of Naval Operations, was the gruffest of all naval officers. Neely Bull, related by marriage to the Admiral, was a member of the Club. Returning again and again after initial rebuffs, he induced Admiral King to meet a few selected correspondents at Neely's own home to discuss the background of naval operations. This continued until Mr. Bull's death when the meetings were shifted to the house of Phelps Adams, then of the New York Sun and later vice-president of the United States Steel Corp. Admiral King not only learned how to get along with the press but even to use it to national advantage. These meetings, obviously, were secret and not until after the war did any one outside the inner circle know of their existence.

Sam O'Neal of the Chicago Sun and Edward Jamieson of the Houston Chronicle, to be followed by Paul Wooton of the New Orleans Times-Picayune were the presidents serving through these war years, each carrying a tremendous load of responsibility. The Club was a hive of war gossip and all manner of security protections had to be observed.

In the Club for many years there had been established a press table; a table on which were laid out each day the news releases of the various governmental establishments as well as of business and other groups and individuals - a handout counter. One could print an entire newspaper merely by using these statements, varying from addresses by the Secretary of State to pumpkin pie recipes from the Home Economics Office of the Department of Agriculture. There came an early afternoon when there appeared on that table the strangest series of press releases that, in the history of man, ever had been issued.

Without previous fanfare of any kind, quietly there materialized neat piles of mimeographed sheets in several groupings. They took their place along with the miscellany of the Federal Power Commission, the Federal Trade Commission, the Department of the Interior and many other routine handouts. They were the skillfully compiled and carefully scattered statements announcing the success of the atomic bomb! Most of the language was rather technical for the layman, but in the main, this brilliant piece of "press relations" was intelligibly and unassumingly carried out. There, in those piles of papers, was the story of the success of the experiment which would bring the end of the war and change the history of the world thereafter!

But despite the obscured advent of the nuclear age, the main concern of Club members was with mundane needs. Let Lyle Wilson tell how cigarettes were dispensed in the emergency of war:

"It began, of course, with the cigarette dearth which hit all American society for a while. Dealers furnished the Club a normal supply and things would have gone well but for one circumstance. Members formed the habit of sending their secretaries, batmen, valets, wives, mothers-in- law, office boys, attorneys and literary agents to the Club to buy cigarettes.

Smokers only! World War II cigarette dispensary in Main Lounge.

"Like Scotch, then, sales suddenly had to be restricted to members only, and then to a single hour in the day and to one package apiece - and you had to have not folding money but the exact change ready besides. So the queue formed, and, as became men used to getting into places by press badge instead of standing in line, it arranged itself sitting down.

"By voiceless common consent, the late Charles Stewart of the Central Press, known for his agile decrepitude as the Young Pretender, held first place regardless of where he sat. And Sir Wilmott Lewis of the London femme held second as the Club's most distinguished resident foreigner. But otherwise each chair and each divan sitting space in the Club's large living lounge came to have its special number in relation to all the others. He who sat and remained in the big leather chair in a far corner was number twenty-eight when all stood up to buy (at a given signal) and none would challenge his senior position.

"Curious developments followed which usually accompany emergencies. The National Geographic Society, for example, began outfitting expeditions to the National Press Club, an objective never before attempted save on Club election days. Denizens of the cardroom who previously had been ignorant that the Club comprised other apartments came groping into the lounge brushing spots from their eyes. Certain tap-room elements who had never been beyond that oasis were led to chairs in the lines by guides. Then the war ended and cigarettes were flush again.

In 1942 Robert O. Litchfield received a telephone call from the chaplain of H. M. S. Essex, then lying at Norfolk Navy Yard for refit. The British chaplain explained that he had some 80 seamen at a loose end. Should they take a sight-seeing trip to Washington, had he any suggestion for their entertainment?

BEGINNING OF A LONG FRIENDSHIP: "Mr. Vice President, would you please hold my cigar?" says perennial funnyman Jack Benny to Mr. Truman, just a few seconds before Mr. Benny started the broadcast part of the inaugural program for Club President Jamieson.

This marked the beginning of perhaps the most remarkable entertainment the Club ever undertook. Mr. Litchfield made hasty arrangements for the sailors' reception in the auditorium of the Club where they were served ale and frankfurters. So immensely pleased did the Rafe Rackstraws appear that Lyle Wilson, H. R. Bauhkage, Ed Kelly, Jim Butler, and a few others decided that similar arrangements should be made for other Allied troops, as well as American servicemen.

So began what has gone down in Club history as the Canteen. Having started spontaneously, it grew like a magic hop vine, spreading and giving immense joy and satisfaction to all in any way associated with it. Each Saturday afternoon, the auditorium was pre-empted. Barrels of beer and hundreds of pounds of frankfurters were provided. At first, word was sent to the camps surrounding Washington that men on liberty would be welcome and, thereafter, the news spread by grapevine. Parties came from more distant camps and there were even contingents from American and Allied ships putting in at New York, Philadelphia, Norfolk and other harbors.

STARS OF TEXAS: Col. Oveta Culp Hobby, first director of the WAC (Women's Army Corps), lends a certain feminine charm at President Jamieson's swearing in ceremony. Others pictured, from left: War Food Administrator and now Chief Justice of the Court of Claims Marvin Jones, Jamieson, his predecessor Sam O'Neal, Secretary of Commerce Jesse Jones, and Speaker Sam Rayburn.

When it became apparent that the Canteen was an institution that must be preserved, the National Press Club Post of the American Legion lent its support and, indeed, practically took charge. Individual members of the Club had made cash contributions and there were contributions of beer and of frankfurters but, at no time, was there any single munificent angel meeting the cost. At length, when the Legion Post had emptied its treasury, the Board of Governers assumed responsibility. It was increasingly evident that the Canteen was a principal port of call for every soldier or sailor on weekend leave. Up to 700 would appear at the Club on Saturdays, sometimes the same ones but, due to the constant shifting of men, usually new.

FLORA DORA GIRLS: Typical of self-produced entertainment by members are these two shots of a Gay Nineties program presented in 1942. "Girls" from left: Walton Onslow, Bill Shenkel, Henry Ralph, Carter B. Jones, George Degnan. Men in the usual order: Ted Kellogg, Vic Lowe, Al Stern, Kirke Simpson, N. F. Rabner.

Behind those handlebars in their best 'Sweet Adeline' voice are: Ludwig "Curley" Caminita, William A. Rogers, Kirke Simpson, Oliver B. Lerch, Walton Onslow, Mr. Barnes, Carl Butman.

It may be appropriate at this point for a word about the post. Membership is limited to Press Club members in all resident classes. Its permanent charer was issued on September 1, 1923. The District of Columbia has many other American Legion Posts, but there always has been something unique about the Club Post. For example, John J. Pershing, General of the Armies, was a dues-paying member and so was Gen. C. G. Dawes, later Vice President of the United States. Gen. John A. LeJeune, Commandant of the United States Marine Corps, was an active member until his death. To name all the important individuals, some who rose high in the armed services, some who became judges, or occupied other exalted positions in civilian life, would be, for these pages, tedious. The Post unquestionably was and remains a corps d'elite!

It seems in retrospect almost incredible that the Canteen should have developed into the affair it became. From the first it was the tacit policy that no Brass should appear. The Club could redailys have recruited any number of colonels, generals, field marshals and admirals but studiously refrained on the theory that this affair was for enlisted men who saw enough of officers on other occasions. But it was felt that these soldiers and sailors, most of whom were destined shortly to go to battlefields at the ends of the earth, would like to see some representatives of the nation whose uniform they wore.

So it was that, each Saturday, Senators and Representatives in Congress, Cabinet Members and other officials (but all civilians) would appear and make brief, very informal speeches to the men. Included were representatives of Allied nations as well as Americans. The firm rule was that no one, no matter what his distinction, oculd speak more than two minutes. One extraordinary Saturday, the entire Supreme Court of the United States appeared. This was not planned. Each Justice had been asked to come any Saturday he could arrange. One or two had been before. On this day, the impulse to visit the Canteen had come to each separately and there they met. The utmost informality consistent with order prevailed, the learned Judges mingling with and shaking hands with many of the troops and joining in the beer drinking, and men who recognized them took especial delight in pointing out Mr. Justice Frankfurter eating frankfruters.

As the weeks passed, the Canteen grew. Forbes Campbell, Alfred Stern, Howard Acton, Ted Kellogg, numerous other members who knew the ways of the entertainment world brought performers from various shows to the Saturday Canteen where they presented their numbers - songs, dances. There never was any lack of band music. The United States Marine Band, the Navy Band, the Air Corps band, the Army Band, the Coast Guard Band, bands from the various camps, sometimes more than one at a time, came to Washington to play for the Canteen, Even H. M. S. Essex, its refitting completed, had moved to New York, it sent its band to Washington to play. The Washignton Police Band which had been organized by Commander Charles Benter, former leader of the Navy Band, contributed its service.

Members of the Club acted as waiters to serve the beer and frankfurters to the men. These included some interesting figures. There was no formality at any time, many of the entertainers singing from the floor and most of the speakers not mounting the platform. Of course, when the entire chorus of Earl Carroll's Follies appeared, the stage was used.

The men passed on to war. Months, maybe a year or more later a war correspondent at some far Pacific atoll or on the North African or Normandy beaches would encounter a fighting man who remembered seeing him at the Canteen. Long after the war, Club members would occasionally meet a soldier, now in private life who was among the tends of thousands who passed through the Catneen. The last beer was poured in 1945.

Harry S. Truman was Vice President of the United States when he and movie star Lauren Bacall both appeared at one of the weekly canteens for GIs held by the Club during World War II. Some five hundred enlisted men, enjoying free hot dogs and beer provided by the Club, roared their approval when the Vice President, seated at the piano, suggested that Miss Bacall join him, resulting in the above photo, probably one of the most widely published in newspapers and magazines in many years.

Lawrence Campbell, General Manager of the National Press Building, turns his back upon Phyrne, presiding deity of the Main Lounge, and upon the grandfather clock, presented by the wives of members, while he listens to a discourse from Paul Wooton, Club President in 1946, now President of the National Press Building Corporation.