THE BAR BOYCOTT

WHEN HAROLD BRAYMAN of the Philadelphia Public Ledger ran for vice president, he defeated Lorenzo Martin of the Louisville Courier-Journal and then, in 1938, succeeded to the presidency entirely unopposed. Mr. Brayman later became Director of Public Relations for E. I. duPont de Nemours and Co. His administration doubtless would have followed the usual round of entertainment of distinguished guests and steady development of the Club had it not been for a wholly unforeseen series of events which resulted in a remarkable revolt.

It has long been an honored custom that when some tall lad has spent a bitter night at the cards, not favored by God, stripped of his last quarter, and feeling as though beaten with rods, some kindly bartender shall perform anew the miracle of Cana and turn the thin water of destitution into a wine of momentary well-being, with compassion, and without charge. One such heartening episode occurred one morning in 1938 in the tap-room of the Club. No safety of mind lies in analyzing the motives of a casual informer, but it is enough to report that such a one did run to the Club president, Mr. Brahman, and said that the bartender was giving away drinks!

Summarily, Mr. Brayman suspended the bartender one week without pay.

The victim, George Miller, had tended bar in the Club tap-room for many years. His perennial geniality and kindliness were held in high esteem.

So, when customers began to drift in there were questions concerning George. Another bartender stood somewhat diffidently in his place. Aled Davies, then with the Gannett papers, was about the first to inquire and then publicist Sam Jones. They heard the story and began to brood. As others - Henry Flynn, Frank Healy, Harvey Jacob, Ralph Collins, Steve Walter, and others of their colleagues entered, their combined brooding bore fruit in a determination to take up a collection to pay George's salary during the week of his suspension. As a member would enter the taproom, he would be accosted, and the case stated. Without exception, the newcomer made his contribution anything from a quarter to a dollar.

It would be difficult to assign proper credit for the burgeoning of the full-blown inspiration which sprang from this seedling. Almost imperceptibly the benefit collection turned into that profound political weapon, the boycott of the bar. To those of deeper feelings, there seemed something almost shameful about buying from a bar (albeit their own) which rejected the boon of a free drink to him in dire need of succor! Some noble soul descended to the liquor store in the lobby, and brought back a quart or two of sound whisky. This quickly was augmented by other contributions. Quietly these offerings were placed upon the tables - not the bar - in the taproom. Drinks were offered freely to any member who entered.

Repeal of Prohibition in 1933 introduced a new room to the Club: The Taproom. Here, in a photo taken on the opening day, are members toasting the end of the Noble Experiment: Left to right, George O'Connor, Sandy Richardson, Bill Collins (in hat), Julius Rieners, Club manager, Ben Morgan sr., Bill Bastian, S. A. Colton. Behind the bar are Harry Stouffer, foreground, and Benny Sienuta, right. Third bartender is an extra.

If some member did not instantly recognize the lengthening line seated at the tables and turned to the bar to buy himself a drink, he was hailed and the matter explained to him. Always the newcomer accepted the rebels' drink instead of buying from the bartender, and usually contributed to the growing fund. In a short time enough cash had been collected to more than make up George Miller's weekly stipend, but something had been started not susceptible to easy control.

By this time the stock of liquor on the tables was extensive and varied. Scotch, bourbon, rye, Irish and bottled beer in tubs of ice were there in impressive array. In those days the late Charles Stewart of the Central Press was accustomed to enter the taproom every fifteen minutes for a glass of port. He was so regular that chronometers could be set by his appearances. So a bottle of port was provided for him.

Heywood Broun, at the time in one of his abstemious periods, entered and, hearing the issue, joined the long bench of boycotters, regarding it as a sort of picket line. He contributed to the store, adding buttermilk and tomato juice to the ice tub. He took for the text of his column that day the Club bar boycott.

As the day wore on a few orders came in from the cardroom and the ladies' dining room, orders from persons who had not learned of the epochal event under the same roof. Those orders ceased when the occupants of these rooms were apprised. The day passed and then the evening. There were, of course, relays of members occupying the long bench and the chairs of the taproom and also, in spite of utter absence of occupation, there were relays of bartenders. There is a legend that Jack Madden, a bookish soul, read "Anthony Adverse" during his tricks at the bar. He denies it.

About the second day, the Board of Governors met in a special session and sent an emissary to the stalwarts in the taproom. They were notified that they were suspended. Names were taken and members willingly demanded their names be taken. They sat, they and their successors. Hours of day and night passed with never a need for a quorum call. The Board or its Executive Committee had been in session almost as continuously as the rebels, save that they lacked the endless supply of replacements the insurgents could depend upon.

The Club served excellent meals but consistently lost money on food service. The deficit was more than made up by bar receipts, but now there were none. The records show that compared with the hundreds of dollars ordinarily dependable, the bar had taken in some $8.25 over a period of days and nights, and that only by mistake.

In desperation, the Board sent a fresh emissary to treat with the recalcitrants. He was Clifford Prevost (afterwards president). The Board asked the members' demands. A committee was hastily formed of the leading malcontents, and a sort of ultimatum drawn up; that is, an ultimatum in the sense that unless the demands were met, the boycott would continue indefinitely. It was demanded that George Miller be reinstated with full pay, that the suspensions be lifted and that a bar committee be created which in future would have sole disciplinary jurisdiction in the taproom. After many hours of efforts on the part of the Board to reduce the demands, it capitulated.

Enough liquor remained on the tables to stock almost any bar. By general consent it was turned over to the Club. In addition to his pay, George Miller received about two weeks' extra pay from the pool collected and reappeared at his post behind the bar. The bar committee as a standing committee of the Club was established with Major J. Stewart Richardson as its first chairman. (Even as the Bar Committee began with a military man as chairman, so today - 1958 - it has another, Gen. Carl "Toohey" Spaatz, wartime 8th Air Force chief, now with Newsweek, with Col. Jerry Greene, New York Daily News, as Vice Chairman.)

Most of official Washington came to the Founder's Day dinner at the Club December 7, 1939. Right to left at the head table are Secretary of the Navy Edison, Larry Stafford, Postmaster General Jim Farley, Melbourne Christerson, Secretary of State Cordell Hull, Club president Arthur Hachten, President Roosevelt, Dick Wilson, Treasury Secretary Henry Morgenthau, Cliff Prevost, Administrator Federal Loan Agency, Jesse Jones, Richard L. Harkness, Earl Godwin, Paul R. Leach.

Another noteworthy result of the bar boycott, one which has insured the most harmonious relationships between the Club management and the Bartenders Union (Local 75), was the action of that first bar committee in paying George Miller's initiation fee in the union.

Since the bar boycott, the Club has enjoyed a completely satisfactory relationship with the Bartenders Union and all concerned are wont to thank the effects of the benign instincts of George Miller and the fierce loyalties of Club members to their favorite department: The Bar.

A period of calm marked the administration of Arthur Hachten of the International News Service in 1939. Although his campaign was made on the always suspect plea of being "a friend of the people," he was unopposed. By that year, however, there was mounting strain in the world outside the Club with the rise of Hitler and Mussolini, and domestically, the tremendous struggles of the New Deal to lift the Nation from the depths of depression.

A royal visitor returns: Edward Duke of Windsor, who as Prince of Wales visited the Club in 1919, came again on September 25, 1941 as an abdicated King. Left to right: the Duke, Club president Mel Christerson, the Duchess of Windsor, Esther Van Wagoner Tufty.

The story continued much the same in the term of Richard L. Wilson of the Des Moines Register and Tribune in 1940. One notable event was the attendance at a dinner at the Club by President Roosevelt.

Since his term as Club president, Mr. Wilson has been a director of the National Press Building Corporation. He is now serving as Vice-President and Chairman of the Executive Committee.

Melbourne Christerson of the Associated Press was elected for 1941 without contest. By this date news correspondents in a world at war were encumbering grave obstacles with censorship. Even returned correspondents, primed with first hand, eye-witness news stories off the utmost importance, dared not print them lest savage retaliation be visited upon Americans still in war zones. But the war tales were told around the Club and served a purpose in building up an atmosphere friendly to American participation when the hour struck. Yes, Club members were hearing about concentration camps and cremations of thousands with all the other horrors, even then.

President Roosevelt's preparedness policies were building up press staffs in the Government establishment and additional newsmen were coming to Washington and into the Club. The active list went over 500, reaching 532 by mid-year. Associates including the Brain Trust and other government officials grew to 448. The Club was more than ever a clearing house for news.

On December 7, 1941, came Pearl Harbor. On Sundays the Club is sparsely populated. Only a few members, some with their families, come in for dinner. Many of those who might have been there on that fateful day, were at a football game. But when, at 2:35 p.m., radio newsmen broke in on broadcasts to announce the Pearl Harbor attack, and when loudspeakers at Griffith Stadium began to page high government officials and correspondents, the quiet scene changed. Within 30 minutes the Club began to fill up. By some telepathy the idea seemed to spread that reporters should report to the Club. From their homes, from wherever they may have been, newspapermen converged on the Club until the rooms were crowded, everyone seeking fuller information, speculating on the next step, in prospect fighting a new war which was to come apace.

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