No Man's Land

The Capitol plaza was No Man's Land last week. Some 700 ragged, hungry veterans arrived from the Pacific Coast to join the Bonus Expeditionary Force, to besiege Congress for immediate cashing of their adjusted service certificates. At their head was a thin, leathery roofer from Los Angeles named Roy Robertson. He wore a blue overseas cap, whipcord breeches. Behind his head was a steel brace from which a strap was fastened under his chin. While serving in the Navy he had fallen from a hammock, permanently injured his spine. His disability in no way diminished his capacity to stage one of the grittiest demonstrations of the Depression.

Roy Robertson believed that the B. E. F., commanded by Walter Waters, onetime Oregon cannery superintendent, had blundered badly when it encamped at Anacostia, four miles from the Capitol. His strategy was close and continuous picketing to keep the Bonus issue squarely under Congressional noses. The first night in Washington his wayworn band flopped down on the plaza lawn, slept on newspapers after police confiscated their bedding. Next morning they trooped to the House Office Building to wash & shave. Soon thereafter Commander Robertson started them on a slow, shuffling march around the plaza that was to last four days, three nights.

In charge of the plaza are Vice Presi dent Curtis and Speaker Garner. On the statute books is a law prohibiting demonstrations there. To Roy Robertson's picketers went the police order: "Keep out of the plaza, stay off the grass, keep moving." Leader Robertson obeyed. Back & forth behind a soiled U. S. flag filed his men on the far side of the black expanse of asphalt. Food was served them afoot, including 1,000 sandwiches contributed by Mrs. Evalyn Walsh McLean. Up & down his thin column paced Robertson, exhorting his men in a voice croaky with fatigue. Shoes came off, blistered feet padded doggedly on the hot "pavement. After the first all-night march exhaustion threatened to break the line. Robertson detailed relays to keep the demonstration going. Those off duty squatted on the low stone coping where indulgent police allowed them to doze.

Such persistent picketing gave Congress a touch of nerves. Vice President Curtis, panicky, had the Marines called. From the Navy Yard 60 arrived by trolley with rifles & bayonets. The marchers guffawed at this turnout. Ten minutes later the Marines were on their way back to barracks. "I'm fed up with hysterical meddlers!" snorted General Pelham Glassford, superintendent of the Washington police, whose amiable discipline has kept the B. E. F. in good order for eight weeks.

Robertson, worn to a frazzle from sleeplessness, keeled over three times on the street. To him General Glassford said: "You certainly have got guts. Give yourself a break."

"Oh, I'm all right," croaked Robertson.

On what promised to be the last day of the session Commander Waters led thousands of his B. E. F. to the Capitol to protest adjournment. Barred from the plaza by a thin line of police, the veterans were at first good-natured and docile. When a truck dumped a load of bricks ordered for fireproofing a sub-basement of the Capitol, they roared with laughter.

Suddenly the front rank spotted Commander Waters boldly striding across the forbidden plaza toward the Capitol. The packed mass stirred forward, broke the police barrier. With one tumultuous rush thousands surged across the plaza after their leader.

Alert to the emergency General Glassford bobbed up on a bandstand near the Capitol's main steps. Commander Waters was arrested, clapped into the Capitol. Bellowed General Glassford to the rampant B. E. F.: "I don't want any trouble, but we'll have it if you don't get back. I told the Vice President I'd keep the plaza clear. When I say I'll do a thing, I'll do it."

"We want Waters!" thundered the veterans, now almost a mob. "Turn him loose or we'll go in and get him."

Spectators and newsmen shrank back in fear of what might happen if these angry thousands turned violent. The plaza remained uncleared. Waters was brought out and exhibited to his followers. He surlily refused to command them to retreat. Dangerous tension was broken when a buxom, yellow-haired woman leaped to the stand. She was Marotta Arsonis, a New York trained nurse who had befriended the B. E. F. Seizing a megaphone, she yelled: "Be calm, men! Be calm! Let's sing." She tuned up with "America."

But the veterans had their own song. Across the plaza rolled:

My bonus lies over the ocean

Oh, bring back my bonus to me.

With its own music the sullen temper of the crowd melted. Commander Waters was released to present to Speaker Garner a petition against adjournment. But first he went before the Capitol to announce: "I've got permission for you to use these centre steps. But you've got to keep a lane open for the white-collar birds inside so they won't rub into us lousy rats. We're Agoing to stay here until I see Hoover."

Thus the B. E. F. took No Man's Land and the Capitol steps, only to be defeated and driven back, not by police clubs and riot guns, but by the adjournment of a determined Congress. Gradually the veterans drifted back to the Anacostia mudflats. Leader Robertson called off his picket line. To continue their demonstration 60 of his men followed a lone flag-bearer down to the White House. Its iron gates were slammed shut. Police reserves trotted up. The demonstrations were forced off Pennsylvania Avenue, across Lafayette Park. A handful were arrested, all traffic was diverted. The White House was left a gleaming island within a circle of armed protection.

Not 10% of the B. E. F. had accepted the Government's offer of carfare home. Before adjourning, Congress extended the date of transportation loans to July 25. From a sickbed Commander Waters told his men: "We're here to stay until 1945 if need be. None of our men are going to take part in any demonstration at the White House."

Bonus City's first baby was born.

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