The “Assassin” of Wilson, part 4 of 7
by Louis Adamic, October 1930, American Mercury
“Well, by and by the bands began to play — there were several of them along the route — and Wilson was driven through the city. The mob cheered him till you couldn’t hear the music.
“He was all dolled up as a great statesman should be and he waved his plug hat and bowed a little now and then, acknowledging the ovation of the people. The President of the United States! It was a great event in Seattle.
“Secret Service men moved along the crowd just a little ahead of the presidential car, which was surrounded by cops on motorcycles. And behind it were other machines, carrying other great men — rolling slowly to give the mob a chance to cheer them a long time. There were ten or twenty blocks of cheering maniacs.
“Then, all of a sudden, Wilson came to a block where everything was quiet. Hundreds of grimy working men, interspersed with women, stood still and silent on both sides of the street. Not a cheer, not a sound, not a move. Most of the men didn’t even look at him; some of them, of course, couldn’t resist giving him the once-over, but everybody was instructed to look past him. Only a couple of kids were pushing and yelling here and there, which made the wobblies’ silence and immobility even more terrible.
“I naturally had a personal interest in the thing. I stood on the edge of the sidewalk, between two ex-soldiers in overseas caps, on the left-hand side of the street in the first wobbly block. A policeman was planted right in front of me, but I could see Wilson over the cop’s shoulder.
“He stood in the machine. He smiled as he came to our block. Then the smile went off his face — like that,” snapping his fingers. “He knew that we were IWW’s, I guess, but he didn’t know what to make of it. He looked flabbergasted. Back there the mob had cheered him till you couldn’t hear the music; here these dirty bums didn’t even move, but stood like statues, and among them were dozens of ex-soldiers.
“He continued to stand in the car, but it was obvious that he wanted to sit down. He looked stern. His frame looked sort of limp and hunched up. The hand holding his tall hat hung by his side. His face looked old and saggy.
“The music behind him now sounded clear and awful. A second before it couldn’t be heard for the mob’s noise, now you heard nothing but music and the roar of the cops’ motorcycles.
“The car moved on — slowly. Then there was another block of still, silent wobblies in denim overalls, their arms crossed on their chests, printed hatbands on their hats and caps, most of them not looking at Wilson, but straight ahead, past him. Thousands of them. Block after block — five blocks.
“It was dramatic as hell — believe me.
“At the third block Wilson sat down besid his wife. I guess he had to because he couldn’t stand up any longer. Those who saw him there said that he seemed to be crumpling up. He put on his tall hat, a little to one side. He had been told that the wobblies were out, but I guess he didn’t expect anything like this. He was white as a sheet and hunched over.
“Beyond the wobby blocks there were more cheering people, but Wilson didn’t stand up again. He merely waved his hand and smiled sort of weakly to the mob.
“Afterward we heard that the newspaper men who accompanied the presidential party were asked not to play up the demonstration too much; it might only fan the anti-Red hysteria; and most of them reported it with great restraint or ignored it altogether. The New York Times man, for instance, saw fit to print only that the IWW had been ‘undemonstrative,’ which gave the reception a ‘sinster note.’ I happened to see the write-up and have the clipping somewhere.