CHAPTER SIXTEEN

_WARS OF AMERICA MEMORIAL_

The Wars of America group in Newark, New Jersey, is the story of a nation told in figures from life and not by allegorical or classic symbols. It is one of the largest bronze memorials in the world, composed of forty-two human and two equestrian figures, all of heroic size. It is the first monument in America to depict mass action. It took three years in the molding, another three years to put it into bronze and ten years of preliminary thought and study.

The same patriotic Amos Van Horn who had left money for the Lincoln memorial had also provided for a monument to George Washington, which was created by the sculptor J. Massey Rhind, and for a third memorial to the soldiers and sailors of all our wars, to the men who had given their lives in making and maintaining the republic. Since Mr. Van Horn’s death, World War I had been added to the list. Almost before the Lincoln was finished, Ralph Lum asked Gutzon to begin thinking about the military monument, but the sum of a hundred thousand dollars bequeathed for the purpose was not immediately available and he had to wait. Of his idea to portray mass action the sculptor wrote:

We do things in the mass, not as individuals. Mass action is the keynote of our civilization. Why should it not inspire our monuments? What opportunities there have been in our history for the inspiration of great sculpture animated by that mass spirit. What I should like to see, for instance, is a monument to Lincoln that would include his cabinet. The more one grows, the more his close associates grow with him. And there are the colonial settlements, the founders of the republic and the Western pioneers still waiting to be memorialized in mass action.

The sculptor began his first designs in more or less the conventional way. He adopted the shaft or the upright column, which is often used as a symbol of civilization, and surrounded that shaft with figures, struggling, rising above material difficulties. In making this model he discovered that it failed completely to express the natural impulses of the human being under stress, either attacking or defending himself against an enemy. All war monuments, he decided, should be planned to depict emotions when threatened by loss of a way of life which was at once familiar and sacred to every family, tribe or nation.

When that idea became clear the problem of a memorial to men who had sacrificed their lives for home and country became one of human anxiety and confusion out of which order, organization and direction gradually developed. This went hand in hand with the thought that the wars of America were defensive wars, that America was not a crusader in a militant sense. The war with England, for example, was a declaration of independence, in no way a struggle for dominion beyond America’s own boundaries. And the First World War was, in the sculptor’s own words, “probably the most remarkable example of utter disinterestedness in conquest.” Monuments that are built for war, he concluded, generally treat battle and fighting as part of the process of civilization, while in fact civilization develops its lines of peace on confidence and in ways that are antagonistic to war. Of how the plan slowly developed in his mind he said:

My first sketch, following abandonment of the shaft idea, represented a confused group of men who were attempting to organize

[Illustration:

_Photo by Lincoln Borglum_

“THE TRAIL DRIVERS”

This group is in Breckenridge Park, San Antonio, Texas.]

[Illustration: THE BORGLUMS’ DAUGHTER

Mary Ellis Borglum is now Mrs. David Vhay.]

themselves and move toward leadership, with Washington and Lincoln symbolically present. But symbolism, though necessary in a group of this kind, had great disadvantages in that it introduced an unnecessary idea of unreality in the passing of great individuals, which appeared to me to be hurtful in a work of art. It seemed that Lincoln and Washington standing together as historic characters introduced a thought that was hurtful to the life and reality of the group. It might give a mystical character that would detract from its vitality.

Finally in the last sketch I introduced two horses because the horse is not only a companion to man but is his closest companion in times of danger, as a carrier, a weapon, or a friend. Artistically and sculpturally his excitement and nervous tension can be used either realistically or symbolically in a group to add life and strength and to suggest a fear that we would not want to show in a human figure. I felt also that in a group of so many figures an upward movement was preferable to keeping them flat on the ground. When I elevated the center of the base of the monument the change instantly increased the sense of struggle and effect.

The defensive character of American wars is suggested in the first part of the work, consisting of a group of four figures. I have drawn the figures of men who will resist anything they think unjust. I have clothed these men in the uniforms of three wars, over a century apart, and strangely enough there is no incongruity of effect.

Although these figures represent mass resistance in the Colonial and Civil War and World War periods, only one man in the group has drawn a weapon. I have shown here four men who form the front and bulwark of a group of forty-odd characters, representing an entire nation mobilizing under pressure of war, and only one man among them displays an implement that could injure another. I have chosen the sword because it is symbolic of authority.

Immediately back of this group I have represented the only organized mass action indicating battle. There are five or six figures, infantry and marines, charging forward with their rifles, six guns in the hands of as many men, and they represent the entire armament of this national monument.

Just at this point, as an allegro of the symphony, I have introduced the two horses to accent the power and movement of an irresistible forward plunge, with plain indication of the loss of control that always appears under great stress. In these horses I have shown a different character to indicate their separate response to the movement.

From this point backward the composition indicates organization, preparedness, equipment and such confusion as extends behind the battle line to the recruiting source and into the home, indicating, I feel, that America’s battles are all for the _defense_ of her homes.

Nine different models were made, and the development of the composition covered considerably over two years of time. The entire composition was modeled full size, as it appears in bronze, without having been “pointed out” as is usually the custom. About forty tons of clay were used. Every bit of it was handled four or five times. The large group itself required about three years of incessant labor.

The characters of the group are known people of our time. They are portraits which it is not necessary to indicate. For example, the aviator was a personal friend of mine, John Purroy Mitchell, former mayor of New York, whom I included because of his patriotism and because he, like so many other gallant airmen, was a sacrifice, I have been told, not to battle but to criminal mismanagement behind the battle line.

This group in bronze is the first accomplished part of a plan I have had in mind for over thirty years--to develop monumental art into a living, active, historical record of moods, lives and characters of the men and women who are responsible for our national development.

In the enlargement of the idea and the making of various models Ralph Lum, whom the sculptor had come to know in the making of the Lincoln memorial, played an important part. The mutual trust and regard established between the lawyer and the sculptor was a dominating factor in producing the memorial. Such a relationship between sponsor and creator is unique in the annals of public memorials in America. A like relationship is not a matter of record anywhere else unless, perhaps, between Pericles and Phidias.

On February 11, 1921, ten years after the completion of the Newark Lincoln memorial, Mr. Lum, acting for the three executors, awarded the commission to Gutzon Borglum and authorized him to go to work. When photographs of the model were published wagers were laid among artists that it would be impossible for any sculptor to keep his creative impulse fixed on one subject long enough to produce an art work of such proportions. They did not know that monotony or dulled interest was an impossibility to an artist who regarded variety not as the spice of life but as its bread and butter. Always he had two or three productions on hand as well as an enormous correspondence, a lecture to art students, a promised magazine article and a political campaign in which a “progressive” candidate must be elected lest the heavens fall.

He was doing the Sheridan memorial for Chicago, which nearly filled his Stamford studio, when he received the Wars of America commission. Characteristically, he immediately began to clear a place in the woods near his home and to dig out the ground for a foundation. The foundation he built of stones covered with cement, a support stout enough to be unshaken by any number of tons of clay or marble. On this he built a bigger studio with walls of stone, while at the same time he laid out the armature for the big group in the middle. Under his personal supervision large rocks for the base of the walls were dragged by horses and tackle from the bed of the near-by river.

The location of so huge a monument demanded much thought and preparation. Eventually the City of Newark cheerfully spent another hundred thousand dollars for the setting of the group. Regarding this matter the sculptor wrote to Carl Bannwort, of the Newark Parks Department:

Now that the monument matter is settled, won’t you get hold of Caparn, your landscape architect, and let us have a conference about where it will be placed? If you and he will come over and lunch with me, we can talk this park proposition over in detail. You have a chance to have the best memorial in the United States and I don’t want any slip through my failing to be beforehand. You are always in such a hurry yourself, anyway, you will be rebuking me if I don’t keep one or two steps ahead of you.

A little later Mr. Bannwort replied:

This is a subject I hardly dare mention. The mere whisper of it may cause as great a stir in the large area of your cerebellum as when a brick is tossed into the pond and visibly agitates every molecule of water.

When we move the bandstand and other excrescences from Military Park, the memorial site, to make room for the monument, we must have a tool shed. Is there no way of putting a door at the northern end of your plinth and using some of the space under the bronze group for this utilitarian purpose? For fear that a whole load of bricks will be heaved by you with deadly aim, I say no more at present.

The modeling was “going splendidly,” as the sculptor wrote, when Mr. Lum brought up a subject of prime importance, which of itself involved a whole volume of correspondence. This was the casting in bronze of the huge memorial. Mr. Lum wrote:

I am wondering if you could within the next week secure some estimate for the casting from some reliable concern. I have no thought of your giving the contract to anyone at present, for I think the prices are apt to decline further; but I would like to get some definite estimate. The way many sculptors and other people are constantly putting it up to me--that the casting can never be completed and the work delivered for anything like your contract price--would unsettle my nerves were I not so sure of you and your ability to put through anything you undertake. But I would feel relieved to see some cost estimates just the same.

In answer to Mr. Lum, whose chief concern now was that the sculptor was putting so much into the memorial that he could expect no profit for himself, Gutzon sent a list of bronzes he had produced, with a careful comparison of size, weight and cost. His conclusion was that the forty-two figures of the Wars of America were equal to about sixteen single figures and that the contract price of $100,000 would “see him through.” As a matter of safety, he added, he was corresponding with European bronze casters who might do the work for much less than would be charged in this country.

He was dismayed when the American estimates came in--from the Gorham Company, $123,000; from Roman Bronze, $87,000; from Henry Bonnard, $78,857. This meant that every bit of the available money would be spent for the bronze casting alone, which is usually less than half the cost of a monument. It was an immense relief when from the Vignali Brothers of Florence, Italy, came an estimate of 475,000 lire, which at that time, October 1921, was worth about $20,000. A contract was signed to the effect that the monument would be shipped from New York in eight sections (plaster casts) and that the first bronze section was to be returned not later than February 1, 1922, and the other seven sections before the end of the same year.

And then the misfortune that had dogged the sculptor if ever he went into a business deal was again at his heels. He had an Italian friend in the United States who said he was going abroad and for the honor of being a part of so noble a work would gladly make all the business arrangements with the Vignali firm. Into the contract the friend inserted two wholly unexpected clauses--that the sculptor was to be penalized for every day’s delay in getting the plaster casts to Florence, and that the friend was to receive a ten-per-cent commission on such a penalty as well as on the contract with the sculptor himself. It was later learned that the friend sued Vignali for refusing to inflict the penalty on the sculptor. Vignali, being familiar with the optimism of art, had never expected Gutzon to deliver the models on time.

There was a weary imbroglio. The sculptor sent his assistant, Hugo Villa, to superintend the whole bronze-casting business. Hugo reported in 1925 that the first group of figures which had been shipped in 1922 were only partly cast; that later groups to arrive had been cast and were scattered all over the foundry; that the contract made by the sculptor’s friend was a pretty bad one.

In Newark, meanwhile, all the burden of explanation fell upon Ralph Lum, a man of exemplary patience, who was being constantly asked by artists, reporters and expectant citizens what had become of the memorial. In answer to one of his many letters Gutzon wrote in 1922:

The new studio I had to improvise for this memorial has been a great physical burden, while the sheer labor of creating such a group has been terrible. However, that is all overcome now, and I have simply to take up figure by figure and group by group, with some concentrated work of course, but it will be like revamping a manuscript you have written.

Now about finishing the group of horses by the first of this month, as you hope. This is quite possible in point of time and labor, but it would be bad and harmful. You will be surprised to hear me say I’m a little sorry the main figures are gone to be cast so I cannot work more on them. I do not need to tell you I shall do nothing that will hurt the final result, but I ought to say that I work so rapidly no allowance is made for my slowing up. This work is a colossal undertaking. A true, clear perspective of it as a whole must be maintained throughout its making. Handling a mountain of material is of itself a man’s job continuously. For that I calculated, but the housing and the danger of freezing and the responsibility of caring for so much I did not consider as I now would.

If a sculptor should undertake to do one figure a month, complete--twelve figures a year--it would be undertaking the unheard of in art. Yet as the work stands today, I’ve done much more than that. In the next sixty days I shall have done nineteen human figures and two horses. I have spent at least half my working time, by necessity, to properly house and protect the work. These nineteen or twenty figures are all separate and amount to about two thirds of the whole. I don’t believe anything like it was ever done before. I certainly could not repeat it and should not want to. As to its value, you know better than anyone else that the group is worth half a million if it is worth a cent.

In a previous letter the sculptor had written in a different mood: “The work is going splendidly, but I am terribly tired--more constantly tired than at any time in my life--and it’s not because I have reached the age of one hundred.” Answering both letters, Mr. Lum wrote:

I can realize, as you know, better than anyone else all that you say, except the single fact of your having grown so terrifically fatigued by the labor of our great work. I can’t think of you as tired. Somehow I don’t associate it with you. Can’t you just go away from it all for a week or two and then get the labor of the rear group out of the way and get it shipped and boxed? I am leaving for abroad next week, and of course I realize now that we can’t possibly unveil this fall. But I know I will have to move out of town if everything isn’t in readiness by early spring. That you should have a million dollars and ten years’ time for this work I know full well.

Gutzon was still at his wit’s end. The first group of four figures had not been shipped until September 1922, and by contract all the forty-two figures in eight groups were to be returned before the end of December. There had been delays in getting clay into wax, delays which eventually made the unveiling four years late. For these delays the dimensions of the group and the sculptor’s determination that only his best work should be fixed in bronze were responsible.

The Stone Mountain project, started in 1915 before the Wars of America project had been authorized, had now been suddenly revived and the sponsors were demanding Gutzon’s return to Atlanta. Still the sculptor’s work was virtually done when again, as the Italians say, “The devil put his tail in the business.” The total expense of shipping the crates of plaster casts to Florence had been about $2,000, as done by an American shipper, Caldwell and Company. Now came a bill for twice that amount for returning bronzes which occupied less space. The shipment was handled by an Italian who added extra fees for trucking from Florence to Leghorn and “deck charges.” Finally there was a peremptory demand from Gutzon’s friend for $2,000 as his commission.

In paying other bills that he thought to be legitimate the sculptor had already used all available funds while he himself worked for nothing because, as he wrote to Mr. Lum in 1926, “This monument must be put up if I have to keep on paying for it to the end of my life and mortgage all I possess.” Confronted now by demands that he thought unjust but could not carry to court, he borrowed money to pay them and gave several of his small marbles as security.

Troubles never come singly, says an old proverb. Gutzon was at Stone Mountain, absorbed in another work, when word came that all the bronze casts had at last arrived in Newark, where no one had the slightest idea of what to do with them. By keeping the wires hot the sculptor located his old friend Bob Baillie, who dropped his own work and hurried to Newark. There presently he was joined by Villa. At the hands of these two, and by what the sculptor gratefully accepted as an act of Providence, the great work moved swiftly to its climax. Several years later Mr. Vignali asked the sculptor if he had found a case of champagne in the neck of one of the horses. Gutzon said he hoped that the welders made a party with it.

The unveiling at Military Park on Memorial Day, 1927, was thrilling enough to efface all memory of the years of waiting. The mayor of Newark, Thomas L. Raymond, had formally proclaimed a public festival; he eulogized, among other things, “the excessive generosity and spirit of self-sacrifice of the sculptor Gutzon Borglum, who has given without limit of his genius, his time and effort.” Because the memorial was national, not local, invitations had been sent to the President of the United States and his Cabinet, to all governors, to senators, congressmen and persons of distinction in national life, scores of whom responded and were present in festival spirit with tens of thousands of New Jersey citizens.

The orator of the day was Secretary of the Navy Wilbur. Over the inspiring scene floated silvery captive balloons. At a bugle signal they rose, lifting the flags which had been concealed in the monument, and out flew forty-eight pairs of carrier pigeons to speed the message of good will to every state in the union. The sculptor’s contribution had been to scatter poppies over the green around the memorial as an expression of his own feeling for the soldiers and sailors who had given their lives for the United States. When it was his turn to speak he said:

It would be impossible for me to express the pleasure I feel and the gratitude to God that I am able today to deliver to you and through you to Newark and to America this memorial monument to the people who have founded and protected a new freedom of the world.

The design in its dramatic sense is conceived as a moment of crisis when the life of the state is threatened and depicts America’s manner of meeting such a crisis. It is a memorial to soldiers and sailors. It is a monument to the fortitude of the American people. It is located here because here Washington stood. Here he many times assembled his troops. Here Lafayette was received by your forefathers, and the building of this monument was prophesied. Here Jackson met your citizens, as did Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt and the other great leaders. All these staunch souls foregathered here on the very ground whereon this design is set, to discuss their course or part or, if necessary, pay sacrifice to national service.

The design itself represents a great spearhead, consistent with the character of Military Park. Upon the field of this spearhead we have placed a great Tudor sword, its blade the pool, its hilt the monument representing the American nation at a crisis, answering the call to arms.

As news of the unveiling spread through the country, with descriptions of the impressive ceremony in the newspapers, a flood of congratulatory letters came in, some from old friends, some from strangers, many from distinguished sources. All criticism of the sculptor who had undertaken two big jobs at once was now forgotten. He was assured that such a work of art was well worth waiting for. One of the letters was from Robert Baillie, most valued by the sculptor because of its human quality and because the writer had worked in the studio and understood him and what he had been trying to do. Baillie wrote:

Mrs. Baillie and myself want to say how much we thought of the group and the unveiling ceremony. It was simply glorious in spite of the rain. I liked what you said, and Mr. Lum’s acceptance was well worded; but what appealed to me most was the message from the governor of Georgia. I think that was the most sincere tribute to your efforts that I have heard at any time, and well it may be so since they now know what they have lost. You certainly have made a warm spot in the hearts of Newark’s citizens and one that will not be forgotten by them. I am sure that you have had many letters of congratulations but none, I can assure you, more sincere than ours.

And Ralph Lum added: “You know how much the association with you has meant to me, and my joy that it has all worked out so beautifully is an abiding and comfortable one.”