Uphill All the Way: The Fortunes of Progressivism, 1919-1929
By Kevin C. Murphy, Copyright 2013. All Rights Reserved.

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Chapter Nine:
The Business of America

Progressives and the Business Culture

IV. Business Triumphant

I. Two Brooms, Two Presidents.
II. A Puritan in Babylon.
III. Hoover and Mellon.
IV. Business Triumphant.

"Among the nations of the earth today America stands for one idea: Business," declared Edward Earle Purinton in The Independent in 1921. "[I]n this fact lies, potentially, the salvation of the world. Through business properly conceived, managed, and conducted, the human race is finally to be redeemed." The spiritual language in this quote was not unique. As prosperity took hold in the New Era and the values of sound business and commerce were increasingly enthroned at the center of American life, they began to seep into all other aspects of the culture as well. "The successful businessman," spat H.L. Mencken, "enjoys the public respect and adulation that elsewhere bathe only bishops and generals."1

"America has become almost hopelessly enamored of a religion that is little more than a sanctified commercialism," complained New York bishop Charles Fiske in 1927. "It is hard in this day to differentiate between religious aspiration and business prosperity. Our conception of God is that he is a sort of Magnified Rotarian [and] Efficiency has become the greatest of Christian Virtues…Protestantism in America seems to be degenerating into a sort of Babsonian cult, which cannot distinguish between what is offered to God and what is accomplished for the glory of America and the furtherance of business enterprise." The reference to "Babsonian" refers to Roger Babson, a prominent promulgator of investment advice in the 1920's and later founder of Babson College. In his 1920 book, Religion and Business, Babson had declared that "the best religion is that which makes its people most efficient, most productive, most useful, and most worthwhile. This is the test which men demand in business and our religion must pass the same test." Similarly, Babson argued, sidestepping any biblical argument about rich men, camels, and needles, "[t]he thing which bothered Jesus in connection with material possession was those who came to Him were not interested in producing more but rather in a redistribution of what was already produced."2

This Babsonian creed of Jesus Christ as the consummate businessman reached its fulfillment in The Man Nobody Knows, a 1925 book by ad man, Congregational minister's son, and Coolidge confidant Bruce Barton. The Son of God was the "founder of modern business," Barton argued. He had "picked up twelve men from the bottom ranks of business and forged them into an organization that conquered the world." And so it befell ambitious executives of the New Era to aspire to His example, since "every one of the 'principles of modern salesmanship' on which business men so much pride themselves are brilliantly exemplified in Jesus' talk and work." While delineating Christ's leadership virtues, Barton, ever the incisive ad man, also played to the biases of much of his audience while retelling the Gospels. "In the fashionable circles of Jerusalem it was quite the thing to make fun of Nazareth -- its crudities of custom and speech, its simplicity of manner," Barton wrote, in a passage sure to resonate with the McAdooites of the land. "'Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?' they asked derisively when the report spread that a new prophet had arisen in that country town."3


One city dweller not impressed with Barton's tome was Gilbert Seldes, who reviewed the book for The New Republic. "The first judgment of this book," wrote Seldes, "is that the author is a man so fanatic about American business that he must reduce his Savior to the terms of the executive and organizer and go-getter. He is presented, in effect, a Rotarian Jesus for, the edification of Rotarians." "Although he labors it manfully," Seldes argued, Barton "somehow fails to persuade you that a Buick Service Station is a temple of the Lord…[and] to suggest that…hotels are based on a sheer love of humanity is ridiculous, and a little insulting." It seems most of the nation disagreed. The Man Nobody Knows was the best-selling book in America for two years straight, prompting Barton to pen a sequel, The Book Nobody Knows, which brought a similar businessman's eye to the Bible. "The fruit was good to eat," Barton has Eve, the First Consumer, saying of the fated apple, "she had an eye to food values."4

Barton's attempt to infuse American spirituality with the business ethic was not confined to his famous books. As a partner at the advertising firm of Barton, Durstine, and Osborn (BDO) -- better known, after the 1928 merger with the George Batten Company, as BBDO -- Barton spearheaded transformative publicity campaigns for some of the largest corporations in America, including General Motors and General Electric.5

On behalf of General Motors, Barton turned to another father figure, General Washington. According to the Barton-penned ads, the father of our country "knew that Distance was the enemy which menaced the new republic most…Only transportation could make a United States." Barton also encouraged General Motors to drop the word "Corporation" from its ads and instead become "a Famous Family," who helped in "making the nation a neighborhood." BDO ads emphasized that "more than 68,000 investors own General Motors…[and] more than 18,000 stockholders are women - mothers, sisters, wives." They depicted families enjoying picnics, or ministers and doctors making their rounds in General Motors automobiles, the latter only getting to the sickbed of a dying girl in time thanks to his sturdy, dependable vehicle.6

For General Electric, Barton's firm emphasized the liberation from toil and drudgery the electric power and light availed. "Women suffrage made the American woman the political equal of her man," one such ad declared. "The little switch which commands the great servant Electricity is making her workshop the equal of her man's." Other advertisements noted how "a friendly lamp invites confidences," illuminating those moments in the late evening "when the hearts of mothers and daughters draw close, and sons discover that father are pals," or when a young child is scared of the dark. "The letters G-E," another ad proclaimed, showing the famous General Electric symbol, "are more than a trademark. They are an emblem of service - the initials of a friend." In both campaigns, the implications were clear - Big Business was not some impersonal entity devoted to profits, but a friend and neighbor who existed only to serve the American people.7

In many ways, this was not just advertising talk, but a groping towards a new understanding of society. Now that business was in the driver's seat, business leaders, some began to argue, had certain responsibilities borne out of noblesse oblige. "The basic remedy for the evils of industrialism and hence for strikes," department store magnate Edward Filene suggested in 1922, "lies in making business a profession - that is, in realizing, in act as well in thought, that a business has no right to make a profit except as it serves the community." Once constructed in such a way, Filene announced, "the modern business system, despised and derided by innumerable reformers, will be both the inspiration and the instrument of the social progress of the future." In short, as Filene put it in 1924, "business in order to be good business must itself be conducted as a public service…Good social policies are the surest recipe for big and continuous profits." "We know that real success in business is not attained by the expense of others," asserted the vice-president of New York's Chemical National Bank. "Business can succeed only in the long run by acquiring and holding the goodwill of people." GE head Owen Young argued that his class of executives "no longer feels the obligation to take from labor for the benefit of capital, nor to take from the public the benefit of both, but rather to administer wisely and fairly in the interest of all."8

Thus the 1920's were the heyday of what became known as "welfare capitalism," a system, in the words of historian Lizabeth Cohen, where "the enlightened corporation, not the labor union or the state, would spearhead the creation of a more benign industrial society." Throughout the decade, corporations worked to stave off both labor unionism and governmental interference by offering better working conditions and benefits like pensions, group insurance plans, and stock in the company. Businesses created wage incentive systems to encourage individual workers to be more productive, founded company unions to keep out more traditional forms of worker organization, and worked to engage the community and foster employee loyalty through sports teams and other extracurricular activities. The welfare capitalist vision, while never fully attained, was articulated by a labor economist of the period as follows:
If the worker has a toothache, the company dentist will cure it; if he has a headache…he can get treatment from the company doctor; if he…needs an operation, the company doctor will help him find a more competent surgeon; in some cases, the company optometrist will measure him for glasses, and the company chiropodist will treat his corns. If he has legal difficulties, he can obtain free advice from the company's lawyer;…if he wishes to save money, the company will act as an agent for a bank, deduct the money from his pay check, deposit it in the bank, and do the book-keeping for him; if he needs to borrow money, the company will lend it to him at a low rate of interest; if he wishes to own a house, the company will build one for him and sell it to him on easy terms, or help him to borrow the money to build it himself.9
Perhaps the most notable welfare capitalist of the era was America's most popular businessman -- and, indeed, one of the most popular Americans of the time, period -- Henry Ford. In 1914, Ford had moved his workforce to the eight-hour-day -- thus helping to alleviate at least some of the tedium of working an assembly line job -- raised wages to the unheard-of $5 an hour (from $2.34, provided workers consented to some intrusive inquiries about their home life), and instituted a profit-sharing system, thereby helping Ford workers to be able to afford Ford cars on the installment plan. Ford also opened an Americanization school for immigrants in his Detroit factory that graduated 16,000 Ford employees in its first five years. (Since Ford, following the suggestion of scientific management theorist Frederick Winslow Taylor, had pioneered the use of the assembly line, his company often hired unskilled immigrant laborers because he could.)10

"I do not consider the machines which bear my name simply as machines," Ford argued in his 1922 autobiography My Life and Work, published the same year he decided to cut his employees' work week down from six days to five. "I take them as concrete evidence of the working out of a theory of business, which I hope is something more than a theory of business--a theory that looks toward making this world a better place in which to live." For too long, Ford thought, business had been mischaracterized. "It has been thought that business existed for profit," he wrote. "That is wrong. Business exists for service." As such, "[a]ll that the Ford industries have done - all that I have done - is to endeavour to evidence by works that service comes before profit and that the sort of business which makes the world better for its presence is a noble profession."11

It was this sort of talk that prompted Lincoln Steffens to say in 1924 that Ford was a "reformer without politics," even a "radical." The man himself thought he was by no means a reformer -- "there is entirely too much attempt at reforming in the world." Nonetheless, Ford argued that this project was his real Life and Work. "The money that I make is inconsequent," he wrote:
Money is useful only as it serves to forward by practical example the principle that business is justified only as it serves, that it must always give more to the community than it takes away, and that unless everybody benefits by the existence of a business then that business should not exist…I want to prove it so that all of us may have more, and that all of us may live better by increasing the service rendered by all businesses. Poverty cannot be abolished by formula; it can be abolished only by hard and intelligent work.1
"We are, in effect, an experimental station to prove a principle," Ford argued. "That we do make money is only further proof that we are right." This experiment was important, Ford contended, in part because there was a great danger in "a whole country…thinking that Washington is a sort of heaven and behind its clouds dwell omniscience and omnipotence[. It means] you are educating that country into a dependent state of mind which augurs ill for the future. Our help does not come from Washington, but from ourselves." As such, Ford argued, the "slogan of 'less government in business and more business in government is a very good one" -- provided business lived up to its responsibilities of service.13

Reviewing My Life and Work for The Nation, Edward Filene deemed it "one of the most significant books of this generation...I conceive it to be my public duty to do everything in my power to bring it to the attention of the widest possible public." While disagreeing with Ford on most public issues - "I think he has been misled and hoodwinked in his warfare against the Jew. I cannot follow him in his adventures in currency reform. I am not sure that his autocratic control of his employees is a sound basis for an industry that is to endure." - Filene thought it spectacularly important that Ford had illustrated that "a business man may render his greatest public service in and through his private business. We business men are too prone to regard our businesses as private ventures out of which we can make money…We are likely to forget…that statesmanship in business is more important than philanthropy outside business."14

What is more, Filene argued, Ford's philosophy illustrated the path of progress that America must follow. A "Fordized America," he wrote, would "ultimately make possible a much shorter workingday. It would make possible higher real wages. It would give mankind a margin of leisure now unknown. Men would be able to spend, say, five hours a day in providing food, clothing, shelter, and insurance against the future, and still have five hours left to devote to an avocation that would broaden the mind and give every man's latent creative abilities a congenial outlet." In short, Filene declared, "[t]he higher real wages and the shorter hours which the Ford philosophy makes possible would give men that economic freedom which is the starting point of all other kinds of freedom."15

Of course, some of the men working under Henry Ford found less freedom in the system than Filene intimated. "Ye get the wages, but ye sell your soul at Ford's," an English immigrant told Edmund Wilson of his experience. "Ye're worked like a slave all day, and when ye get out ye're too tired to do anything -- ye go to sleep on the car comin' home…It's worse than the army, I tell ye -- ye're badgered and victimized all the time. You get wise to the army after a while, but at Ford's ye never know where ye're at. One day ye can go down the aisle and the next day they'll tell ye to get the hell out of it. In one department, they'll ashk ye why the hell ye haven't got gloves on and in another why the hell ye're wearing them…A man checks 'is brains and 'is freedom at the door when he goes to work at Ford's…I'm tryin' to forget about it."16

In any case, Henry Ford further expounded on his vision in 1926, with a follow-up book entitled Today and Tomorrow. Again, the automaker emphasized that business was intended to serve, not profit. "One cannot hope to live on a community, but in a community," he wrote, noting that his company had "never put in a plant without raising purchasing power and standards of living." In fact, Ford had thought the majority of his fellow executives were beginning to take a wrong turn. In the Coolidge era, he declared, "[t]he face of business is bowed toward the stockholder and not toward the consumer, and this means the denial of the primary purpose of industry." Running a business to maximize profits, Ford suggested, was heading for trouble. "The profit motive, although it is supposed to be hard-headed and practical, is really not practical at all, because it has as its objectives the increasing of prices to the consumer and the decreasing of wages, and therefore it constantly narrows its markets and eventually strangles itself," leading to depression. Rather than being inordinately focused on profits, Ford insisted, the businessman must first and foremost be a sound administrator over his domain.17

"And there we are," noted Stuart Chase, summing up Ford's vision in his review of Today and Tomorrow for The Nation. "The machine brought to heel at last, but run by engineers subject only to referendum of the public as reflected in its buying power. The government is invited to keep out and stay out, along with bankers, trade unions, reformers, charitable undertakings of all kinds" -- This, Chase argued, was the "industrial Utopia of the modern Croesus." But "can we resign ourselves without further scrutiny to the stewardship of the engineer-business man?" Chase asked. "What earnest have we that the Ford tradition will animate all our engineer-overlords after we have meekly handed over the earth to them?" It is a system that might work well in boom times, Chase thought, but only in those times - "Which is not saying that my children will not live under it."18

In fact, even during the Coolidge prosperity, the call to service never escaped very far from the profit motive. In Religion and Business, Roger Babson implored business executives "to develop efficiency, accumulate capital, and work toward other capitalistic ends; but by using some force other than the incentive of profit." But he also conceded that "[m]anufacturers and merchants are learning that to succeed permanently they must talk service, whatever may be their religious opinions." And just as Hoover had trouble getting businesses to do things voluntarily that were not in their immediate self interest, few companies had either the resources or the desire to work to achieve Ford's vision of a state benevolently administered by business-minded technocrats. "You know employers do a great many things for their employees, just because they want to be men, and they want to have sympathy with them," Chicago printer Thomas Donnelly told a Senate committee. When pressed on this point during testimony, Donnelly exclaimed "If I gave my altruistic spirit full rein I would be broke in a month!"19

"The average American business man," Bishop Fiske argued in his "Puzzled Parson" piece of 1927, "has been encouraged to believe himself religious if he sings long and loud the duty of service, and insists that, unlike virtue which is its own reward, service (with a large S) brings monetary returns of a real material worth." And yet, just as businessmen - at least rhetorically - aspired to the value of service, so too did many who had followed service as a calling now aspire to the values of business. "[W]elfare work," Bishop Fiske declared, "has been commercialized and professionalized to such an extent that a special kind of appeal is now made for its support - an appeal to pride of patronage from wealth, and often to fears of radicalism as well…The proportion of publicity to actual accomplishment is appalling in volume. We have caught the spirit of the trade associations."20

Something similar was happening in the field of social work as well. In the January 1921 Survey symposium on "What Must Be Done to Make This a More Livable World?" several correspondents argued for a more scientific and business-like approach to the profession. "Why not a long step ahead toward a more united and intelligent profession of social workers?" queried David Holbrook of the American Association for Organizing Family Social Work. "Social Service," a University of Toronto Social Science professor argued, "has been built on the abiding foundations of human sympathy, but with insufficient knowledge and limited ideals.21

Some of the old-timers begged to differ. "As settlements like the rest of social effort became professionalized," Wellesley college professor and reformer Vida Scudder wrote of the 1920's, "my interest, though not my loyalty, waned a little." She compared the difference between the rising generation of business-minded "social workers" and the social reformers of her day as being akin to that "between a salaried clergy and the mendicant orders who had become fools for Christ." Similarly, in explaining why younger settlement house workers no longer wanted to live within the communities they serviced, social reformer Albert Kennedy noted in 1933 that the new generation think "of themselves as professional men and women, rendering a specific service desired by the neighborhood, however paid for, rather than as 'neighbors' or 'social explorers'…At bottom the revolt is against the grain of sentimentalism, about the people worked with and the task in itself, which the older generation still cherishes and finds serviceable.22

To Jane Addams, the dean of the settlement house movement, the new emphasis on business-minded professionalism and expertise in social work meant valuable virtues were being lost. Remembering how she spoke to the National Conference of Social Work in 1924 on the issue of toothaches, Addams noted that "[h]appily this effort is quite devoid of any social theory, but if one should be attached to it I predicted that most of the social workers would be frightened and feel that they must drop it. We are quite willing to work hard at the abolition of a toothache, but not willing to discuss social theory, and if a powerful newspaper called the effort Bolshevistic, so filled with terror have certain words become, that doubtless a few social workers would be found to say: 'We don't really approve of dental clinics; and, of course, we do not extend their services to adults who might be radicals; we are only experimenting with baby teeth.'"23

It wasn't just in religion and social work where business mores, virtues, and analogies bubbled to the fore. As historian Dorothy Brown notes, business made itself heard in education as well. "Just as truly as a manufacturing plant," a Columbia Teachers College professor of the time argued, America's schools "must work up all its raw material so as to make it maximally useful." "For a long time all boys were trained to be President," Muncie, Indiana's school board president told sociologists Robert and Helen Merrell Lynd. "Then for a while we trained them all to be professional men. Now we are training boys to get jobs." In August 1928, a writer in The American Mercury half-ridiculed, half-lamented the explosion of business schools, "the biggest money-getters in the world of the intellect," and their course offerings -- among them "Business Barometers," "Analysis of Financial Reports," and "Advanced Problems in Sales Administration." In fact, even labor leaders were beginning to look to business for leadership. "[D]istrust and hostility toward the business system wanes," declared the UMW's John L. Lewis in 1925, "as it is becoming better understood how the general prosperity and individual and family welfare of modern peoples has been insured by the use of capital in production to multiply the productive power of man's labor, whether by hand or brain."24

Across the board, business was now moving to the center of American life. "What is the finest game? Business," declared a writer in the Independent. "The soundest science? Business. The truest art? Business. The fullest education? Business. The cleanest philanthropy? Business. The sanest religion? Business." The American businessman, argued the Chicago Tribune in 1927, "has the whole country resting on his shoulders and if he weakens everybody is miserable. He keeps the country going…he commercializes everything and makes it possible to exist." Citing Middletown, Stuart Chase argued in his 1929 book Prosperity: Fact or Myth that the period between 1922 and 1929 had seen "the emergence of the business man as the dictator of our destinies…he has ousted the statesman, the priest, the philosopher, as the creator of standards of ethics and behavior" to become "the final authority on the conduct of American society." The United States was now "resting her civilization on the ideas of businessmen," declared historian James Truslow Adams, in his tome Our Business Civilization. In 1928 and 1929, TIME founder Henry Luce began planning a follow-up magazine, Fortune, to document the reach and attainments of American business at its height. "Accurately, vividly, and concretely to describe Modern Business is the greatest journalistic assignment in history," Luce proclaimed in his prospectus. The magazine went to print in February 1930, four months after the Wall Street Crash.25

During the 1924 election season, when the ascendancy of businessmen over the Republican Party became an obvious and inescapable fact, TNR warned about what the emerging "businessman's bloc" meant for politics and society. Unlike the corporate interests of the McKinley era, it argued, "the business man of today has lost his innocence. He is conscious of living in a society in which the interests of different economic groups no longer coincide":
His status in his own eyes is not so much that of an individual manufacturer or trader or of a citizen, but that of the member of a class whose common interests need to be defended or asserted….[Businessmen] are beginning to have the feeling and the outlook of a class who by their intrinsic qualities, their training and their peculiarly important stake in the community are entitled to rule. They are already strongly entrenched in the prevailing system of law and its interpretation. They own the most powerful and prosperous newspapers and operate the most effective vehicles of general publicity. They are headstrong, self-confident and impatient of artful political dodging. They have no sympathy or imagination about the interests and states of mind of those sections and classes which lie outside their own immediate experience. They realize that they are a minority, but they propose to compensate for this defect. They expect to dominate the government in part by their energy and competence, in part by skillful propaganda, in part by sheer determination, and last but not least by their ability to bring on, whenever their opponents triumph, a period of business depression and economic deprivation.26
"The increasing domination of the Republican party by a business man's bloc," TNR concluded, "is not the expression of an accidental or ephemeral fact. It is the political result of the victorious industrialism of American life, of the emerging class-consciousness of the business man, of his prodigious material resources, of his conviction of his own importance." The business bloc now in charge "believe in big profits, big fortunes, big business and plenty of it as the clue to the welfare of the American democracy. They intend to govern the country as if this belief were true, and to prove their contention by condemning any other form of government to economic disaster. Politicians will hereafter have to become either their servants or their masters."27

Similarly, in the same magazine a year later, Alvin Johnson warned of "the emerging business aristocracy" that had moved to the center of American life. "Men who have reached high position within their own organization by practice of the art of combination will not find difficulty in applying the same art to relations with other organizations." As a result, Johnson argued, "Business and government are coming to be related like the two sides of a dollar. They are not identical, nor necessarily harmonious. But conflict is excluded…We hear more and more often the demand for a 'business government.' Perhaps we may come to live under such a government before the world is much older. Not that we shall see it. No doubt we shall still be trying to catch up on the Constitution when the lords of the business world are laying the adamantine but invisible foundations of a new political economic order athwart our ancient highways."28

Many progressives expressed disgust at the emerging order. "Life is something more than a matter of business," said Gifford Pinchot, "No man can make his life what it ought to be by living it merely on a business basis. There are things higher than business." George Norris prophesied of a more direct threat to the prevailing philosophy than mere existential malaise. A day will come, he warned darkly in 1921, "when you fellows who think more of big business than you do of your religion will be on your bended knees to such men as shall follow me -- because I shall not be here then -- praying for protection against the mob. The men who are called radicals and progressives now will be the conservatives to whom the weeping, suffering world will plead for justice; and it may be that pendulum will have swung so far that justice will be impossible." But, for much of the decade, it seemed that day of reckoning would never come. "It is now a government, by, for, and of Big Business," lamented Oswald Villard in 1927.29

Like Villard, Herbert Croly, Frederick Howe, and others, some progressives responded to this ascendancy by counter-organizing, and identifying themselves more closely than ever before to the aspirations of labor. But others, including many that had been otherwise averse to corporate power in the past, began to be swayed by the prospects of a business-led society.

In 1925, William Allen White deemed the Chambers of Commerce "the outfit that has to be put in its proper place in this country, taken down from the throne, and made ordinary voting American citizens instead of assuming to rule the land by their eminent respectability." (At the time, he was turning down an invitation to speak to the Wichita Junior Chamber of Commerce. "A Junior Chamber of Commerce makes my feet hurt," he wrote. "Why now let the young people have a little indiscretion, a few years of gay irresponsibility? Why harness them to a plug hat early in life?")30

But two years later, White began to relent. "As times change, we change with them and business also has changed," he conceded in 1927. "The business that Bryan and Roosevelt railed at in their days is not the business of today." Now "managers" were in charge rather than "the old barons," and since the problems of the world "are essentially engineers' problems," he argued, perhaps that was for the best. Walter Lippmann, who had been advocating for an America led by a class of experts since the publication of his 1922 book Public Opinion, especially welcomed this brave new world. "The more or less unconscious and unplanned activities of business men," he declared in 1928, "are for once more novel, more daring, and in general more revolutionary than the theories of the progressives."31

Even Lincoln Steffens, the venerable muckraker who had made his name railing against corporate corruption and malfeasance - the same man who had returned from Russia arguing he had seen the future and it worked - became a believer in the possibilities of this new economic order. "Big business in America," he wrote, "is producing what the Socialists held up as their goal; food, shelter and clothing for all. You will see it during the Hoover administration."32

Continue to Chapter 10: Culture and Consumption.

Return to the Table of Contents.

1. Dumenil, 32. Edward Earle Purinton, "Big Ideas from Big Business," The Independent, April 16, 1921, in Stuart A. Kallen, ed., The Roaring Twenties (San Diego: Greenhaven Press, 2002), 35.
2. Charles Fiske, "The Confessions of a Penitent and Puzzled Parson," Scribners, December, 1927, 657-663. Dumenil, 170-171. Brown, 168. Danbom, 233-234.
3. Greenberg, 73. Richard Fried, The Man Everybody Knew: Bruce Barton and the Making of Modern America (Chicago: Ivan Dee, 2005), 8-9. Bruce Barton, The Man Everybody Knows, (New York, Bobbs-Merill Company, 1925). Danbom, 235. Apparently, Barton meant every word of this. "Like a modern Sir Galahad," one of his contemporaries in the advertising world observed, Barton's "strength was the strength of ten men because his heart was pure. He was sincere." Roland Marchand, Creating the Corporate Soul: The Rise of Public Relations and Corporate Imagery in American Big Business (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), 134.
4. Gilbert Seldes, "Service," The New Republic, July 15th, 1925 (Vol. 43, No. 554), 207. David Greenberg, "The Forgotten Imagemeister," Washington Monthly, April 2006. Danbom, 235.
5. Marchand, 130.
6. Marchand, 139-145.
7. Marchand, 152-160.
8. Edward Filene, "Why Men Strike," in Byron and Coudert, ed., 153. Dumenil, 33-34. Danbom, 236-237. Brown, 9. Schlesinger, Crisis of the Old Order, 73.
9. Cohen, Making a New Deal, 161-180, 182-183.
10. Daniel M.G. Raff, "Ford Welfare Capitalism in its Economic Context," in Sanford M. Jacoby, ed., Masters to Managers: Historical and Comparative Perspectives on American Employers (New York: Columbia University Press, 1991), 99.
11. Daniel Gross, "The Slow Death of Welfare Capitalism," Slate, September 3rd, 2004. Henry Ford, My Life and Work (New York: Garden City Publishing, 1922), 1-3, 270-271.
12. Murray, The 103rd Ballot, 264. Ford, 7, 272-273.
13. Ibid.
14. Edward Filene, "Ford: Pioneer, Not Superman," The Nation, January 3rd, 1923 (Vol. 116, No. 3000), 17.
15. Ibid.
16. Edmund Wilson, The American Earthquake, in Kallen, ed., 65-66.
17. Stuart Chase, "Henry Ford's Utopia," The Nation, July 21st, 1926 (Vol. 123, No. 3185), 53.
18. Ibid.
19. Roger Babson, Religion and Business (New York: MacMillan Company, 1921), 207. Danbom, 166-167, 236-237.
20. Fiske, "Confessions," 657-663.
21. What Else Must Be Done to Make This a Livable World?" The Survey, January 1st, 1921, 503, 501.
22. Chambers, 123-124.
23. Addams, The Second Twenty Years at Hull House, 156.
24. Brown, 132. Dumenil, 33-34. Arlington J. Stone, "The Dawn of a New Science," The American Mercury, August 1928, 446, in Mowry, ed., 10-14.
25. Brown, 11. Edward Earl Purinton, "Big Ideas for Big Business," The Independent, April 16th, 1921, 395, in Mowry, ed., 3-10. Allen, Only Yesterday, 138. Stuart Chase, Prosperity: Fact or Myth (New York: C. Boni, 1929), 40. Alan Brinkley, The Publisher: Henry Luce and his American Century (New York: Alfred Knopf, 2010), 148-153.
26. "The Business Man's Bloc," The New Republic, June 25th, 1924 (Vol. 39, No. 499), 113-115.
27. Ibid.
28. Alvin Johnson, "The Emerging Business Aristocracy," The New Republic, July 15, 1925 (Vol. 43, No. 554), 201-202.
29. Schlesinger, Crisis of the Old Order, 117. Lowitt, 192. Dollena Joy Humes, Oswald Garrison Villard: Liberal of the 1920s (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1960), 155.
30. White to Henry J. Allen, June 11, 1925. White, Selected Letters, 249. Dawley, 317.
31. Dawley, 317. Ashby, 70. Leuchtenburg, the Perils of Prosperity, 201.
32. Leuchtenburg, the Perils of Prosperity, 201.

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