The Best President Money Can Buy

CHAPTER 1

THE WHITE HOUSE—PRIVATE LIVING QUARTERS of THE PRESIDENT

EVENING OF 18 MAY 1933

C ome in. the President said, flashing his famous smile with his signature cigarette holder clamped tightly between his teeth. Please take a seat gentlemen and thank you both for seeing me at this late hour. the President added.

Not at all, Mr. President, it’s our pleasure. Replied Senator George Norris, a Republican Senator from Nebraska and the primary sponsor of the legislation creating the Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA).

How about a Martini? It’s certainly late enough. Roosevelt said, referring to his self-noted acclaim for making the world’s best Martini.

An excellent idea. Norris responded, taking a seat on a couch directly across from where the President’s wheelchair was positioned.

I’ll also have one, Mr. President. If you don’t mind. Responded Mr. David E. Lilienthal, who was seated next to Norris. Lilienthal’s presence at this meeting was due to his newly appointed status as the director of the TVA.

Good. The President said, wheeling himself over to the ever-present portable bar in his private living quarters.

Having mixed three Martinis, for himself, Senator Norris and Lilienthal, the President continued. I wanted to see you here in my private quarters as opposed to the Oval Office to discuss more about this legislation without any of my staff present. I’m quite concerned about the cost of this particular piece of legislation.

But Mr. President, Norris interrupted. We covered that during the hearings, and you agreed to the cost; or at least I assumed you did, or you wouldn’t have signed the bill this morning. Norris added.

Senator Norris, it’s not the money I’m worried about. It’s the human cost in terms of lives this bill will impact. It’s the displacement of families that bothers me and the complete destruction of perfectly good towns and farmland that in two or three years be completely under water. This is of great concern to me.

I understand your concern, Mr. President, Lilienthal said. But unfortunately, the displacement of some towns and people just cannot be helped. And this is all for the greater good, as you know, Mr. President, Lilienthal added.

Yes, I understand all that, and yes, I realize this project was a major plank of my 1932 campaign, but nevertheless I am still not happy about disrupting good people’s lives. What are the numbers we’re talking about? the President asked.

About 14,000 families. Norris replied.

14,000 families, the President echoed, closing his eyes and setting his Martini glass down on the cocktail table in front of him with one hand while removing his Pince Nez glasses to massage the bridge of his nose with his other hand. Isn’t there something we can do to reduce that number? Roosevelt asked.

I’m afraid not, Mr. President. Lilienthal stated, agreeing with Norris.

Mr. President, we have the legislative authority in the bill to do what is necessary to make this project a reality. As the language of the bill clearly states, the Government will have such power in order to bring electricity to rural areas and put Americans back to work during these trying economic times.

Yes, Yes, Senator Norris. The President interrupted. I’m fully aware of the bill’s language, Roosevelt said, cutting off Norris in mid-sentence. That’s not my point. My point is what do we do about these displaced persons and what can we do to reduce the number of families that will be negatively impacted by this legislation?"

Well, Mr. President Lilienthal injected. I’m afraid there is nothing we can do about the number of families that we’ll need to be moved, but we are doing everything we can to ease their discomfort. In some cases, we’re, moving whole towns to higher ground and while we can’t move the affected farms we can and are making good on paying fair prices for those farms and helping the displaced farmers to find new farms.

The President paused and took a sip of his Martini. Some of those farms have been in these families for over a hundred years and much of that farmland is good bottom land. And, while I’m no farmer, I can’t help but think giving up good bottom land for some other unknown patch of dirt isn’t something these farmers are willing to do. That doesn’t even consider the individual history, memories and stories that have been passed down over  generations to these families. This is their history and no doubt in most cases a proud one that defines who they are. They will be losing all that through no fault of their own.

Mr. President, if I may, rather than dwell on the downside of this revolutionary piece of legislation, look at the number of jobs it will create and the fact it will be bringing electricity to thousands of people who are still reading by lantern and have no electricity in their homes Norris said.

Senator, I don’t have to tell you we’re in the middle of a depression and God knows we need to create jobs, but at what human cost and at what price in terms of losing the freedoms this country is based upon? the President mused.

Mr. President, I’m afraid I don’t understand. Norris said. With all due respect, sir, the major reason why we believed it was important to do this project was to take electric utilities out of the hands of private companies. As you know, these companies were gouging the same public we’re trying to help. They had a product that the public wanted, and they were taking advantage of that. Norris added.

Yes, I know that. the President said. But are we replacing one devil with another? He asked.

Mr. President, not at all, Lilienthal said. We are replacing those who would serve their own selfish private interests with a benevolent government organization that has the interest of our citizens at heart..

Are we not creating a government monopoly and setting the stage for more of these monopolies throughout the country? the President asked.

Mr. President, I wouldn’t call the TVA a monopoly. It’s simply a government agency just like the Department of Treasury or the War Department. Norris injected.

Just like the Department of Treasury or the War department? The President repeated. I’m afraid I don’t see it that way.  I see us creating a monopoly engaged in selling a service to private citizens. That is quite different than what the Treasury or the War Department does.  Quite different indeed. He repeated. 

I don’t see a problem here. Norris said. The federal government will have oversight over the TVA and we can control them. They will not be given carte blanche to do as they please.

My dear Senator, you know damn well bureaucracies once created have an interesting way of developing a mind of their own. You and I, Senator, are merely temporary actors in a long lasting play we call the federal government, but the TVA will be here long after we’re gone. God only knows what it will look like 50 or 100 years from now.  I pray we haven’t created a monster. The President said.

I trust we haven’t. You’ll see that the good of this project far outweighs any adversity your administration will incur even if we must displace a few families. Norris said.

I don’t call 14,000 families a few, the President said. I want strict congressional oversight on this project to make sure that the powers we give to this new organization are kept in check. Eminent domain is one thing, but total control over an area in terms of land, pricing and utility policy is quite something else.

Sir, I can assure you the TVA will never have those powers and when possible, it will become a competitive player and a model among the private utilities that it will certainly spawn overtime. Norris added.

The President picked up on Norris’s reference to private utilities. Please explain yourself, Senator. the President asked. How can we have private utilities in an area where we intend to set up a protective government monopoly?

Mr. President, the TVA monopoly will only be a temporary measure. My committee and I envisions TVA will exist only long enough to get us through this terrible depression. Once we reach a successful end to this depression, we envision the TVA as a price monitor that will allow private utilities to assume the role of the eventual providers of electricity as the market for electricity grows. At that point the TVA will assume an oversight role to ensure fair competition and set the pricing standards’ Norris explained.

I see. the President said. Well then, I, for one, am ready for another Martini. Do I have any other takers? Roosevelt asked.

CHAPTER 2

RILEY FARM, EASTERN TENNESSEE

AFTERNOON OF 2 AUGUST 1933

The Riley farm was located on bottom land near the Clinch River in Eastern Tennessee not far from the town of Loyston. The Riley family had farmed this land since 1792 when the first Riley, Michael Riley, a Revolutionary War veteran, was given 160 acres next to the Clinch River for his service in the war. Ironically, Michael wasn’t fighting the British so much for the independence of the colonies as he was to avenging the loss of his parents’ farm back in Ireland that was seized by the British. His family’s hatred of the British ran deep and was the eventual reason why his parents decided to immigrate to Philadelphia, where his father found work as a blacksmith and Michael joined the American Revolutionary Army. 

Over time the Rileys purchased additional land surrounding the farm, expanding it to over 400 acres where they grew primarily corn and wheat. Much of the land near the city of Loyston was not great farmland and many farmers there had a tough time making ends meet. But farming was in their blood, it was the only  life they knew and were not about to abandon it to trade the known for the unknown, even during these tough economic times.

For most of these farmers the Great Depression of the 1930’s made it even harder for many of them to scratch a living from the poor soil. But the Riley farm was a different case. Its rich bottom land made it a prosperous farm that yielded good profitable crops year after year making the current owner of the farm, Daniel Riley, one of the most prosperous farmers in the valley.

Riley had just finished his afternoon chores and was walking toward the farmhouse anticipating a good dinner, followed by tuning into his favorite radio shows. As was his usual custom, he entered through the front door of the farmhouse. Fully knowing after years of marriage his wife would conveniently place the evening paper on the entrance hall table so he could grab it on his way to his favorite easy chair for some reading and relaxing before dinner.  Picking up the paper he folded it under his arms, peaked his head through the open kitchen door, just off the entrance hallway, and said hello to his wife before heading toward his easy chair to await his wife’s call for dinner. This was a well-worn routine in the Riley family that he and his wife had followed for years. He had no sooner sat down and opened his paper that he spotted the dust cloud of a car coming up the long dirt driveway to his house. This was something that was not routine for this time of day and to Riley could only spell bad news.

The car stopped in front of the farmhouse and a tall man in a tan suit wearing a brown fedora got out of the car and started walking toward the steps to the front porch. On the door of the car Riley spotted the letters TVA. Anticipating a knock on the door by  this stranger, Riley walked to the front door of the house and opened it as the stranger started up the steps.

May I help you? Riley asked.

Are you Mr. Daniel Riley? The stranger asked.

Why yes. What’s it to you?

I’m Bill Granger from the TVA. Mind if I come in?

Reckon that’d be OK. Riley replied.

Granger came through the door and Riley showed him to the living room indicating for him to take a seat in a facing easy chair.

Would you care for a glass of iced tea, Mr. Granger? It’s been mighty hot today. Riley added.

No but thank you.

Then what can I do for you Mr. Granger? Riley asked.

I’m sure you’ve heard of the TVA, Mr. Riley?

Of course, most people around these parts have.

Well, I’m here to make an offer to you?

What kind of offer? Riley asked suspiciously.

The TVA would like to buy your farm.

It ain’t for sale. Riley replied abruptly.

I’m afraid, Mr. Riley, you don’t understand. The TVA needs your land for the Norris dam project.

Why would the TVA need my land when they already own plenty of land around these parts?

Mr. Riley, we’re willing to offer you more than a fair price for your land and help you relocate to another farm. Granger said.

"I don’t want another farm. I like this one fine. Besides, it’s been in my family for over 130 years. Rileys have always farmed this land and will always farm it. And when my time comes, I plan to be buried here just like all my kinfolk. So, young fella you can go back to the TVA and tell’em I ain’t leaving so matter how much money they be offering me.``

Mr. Riley, I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in the matter.

What do you mean I don’t have a choice? Riley asked angrily.

The government is going to claim your land under the provisions of Eminent Domain.

What the hell is—what you’d call it?

Eminent Domain. What it means is that the government determines that there is a more useful purpose for the land that would better benefit the community over the individual.  It’s in this interest of a greater good that the law gives the government the authority to acquire the land. Granger explained.

You mean steal it don’t you? Riley said, his temper rising.

Mr. Riley, as I explained, the government is going to give you a fair price for your land and help you relocate. We’re not stealing it.

Why’s the damn government want my land?

Because. Granger hesitated for a moment before going on choosing his words carefully. Because when the Norris dam goes into operation, this land will be flooded and this entire farm will be underwater. Granger explained.

Well, I’m not leaving! I’m gonna fight you on this. You or nobody else is taking my land. Now you better get off my land right now, Mister!

Ok, I’ll leave. I know this must come as a shock. Perhaps we can talk another day. Granger said.

Ain’t nothing to talk about. Now get out!

Riley watched Granger climb back in his car and start down the dirt drive toward the main road. Once the TVA car turned on the main road, Riley walked back to the kitchen where a crank operated phone hung on the wall.

Picking up the phone’s earpiece, he cranked the phone and contacted the local operator.

Mildred, get me the mayor. Riley said firmly into the phone’s old fashioned mouthpiece.

The operator did as Riley requested and rang the office of Clifford Bennett the Mayor of Loyston Tennessee. Bennett picked up on the second ring.

Cliff, I just had a TVA fella come by here and tell me I’m gonna have to sell em my farm and I have no damn choice in the matter. What in the hell is going on here? Riley asked, not trying to restraint the anger in his voice.

Dan, I’m afraid he’s right. Bennett said.

What the hell ya mean he’s right?

Look, we don’t like this any more than you do. Hell, we’re losing the whole town of Loyston. The TVA is taking the entire town. We tried to fight this. The town council even hired an attorney out of Knoxville to see if we had any legal standing to go back on the TVA. And for an attorney he was a pretty honest fella. He told us to save our money and if he took our case, it would be like stealing because the US government holds all the cards. Bennett said.

Cliff, are you telling me there’s nothing I can do?

Fraid so Dan. My advice to you is take the money the TVA is offering and find yourself another farm.

Suppose I refuse to take the money.  They can’t take my farm then. That would be stealing. Right? Riley replied.

Dan don’t be a damn fool. You can’t win this one. The damn government has got all the power. If you don’t take what they’re offering, they’ll just send in some Federal Marshalls and they’ll physically move you off your land.

Cliff, my family has had this farm since the Revolution. I planned to be buried on it when I died. I don’t know where else I’d want to be or what else I’d want to do. This farm is everything to me and my family. I plan to pass it on to my children and then it will go to their children. That’s the way it’s been here for almost 130 years. It’s our way of life and it’s a good way of life., Hell, you were born here, Your family were farmers here.  You know us. Damn you’re one of us and you’re telling me that you ain’t even going to try to fight this?

Dan, I know, I know, but I also know there is nothing I can say or do that will make any damn difference. Like you said, I was born in Loyston and have lived here all my life and to think that in a few years this whole community will be under a lake just breaks my heart. Dan, you’re not alone. In fact, you’re the fourth farmer today who has called me about the same thing. I’ve had to tell them that there is not a damn thing anybody can do to change the situation. So many folks are being uprooted by the damn TVA, all I can say is I hope this project is worth all the heartbreak they’re causing.

CHAPTER 3

MILLER COAL NUMBER 3 MINE, FRANKLIN COUNTY, ILLINOIS

21 DECEMBER 1971

The black 1960 Ford Galaxy 500 Sedan  wheeled into the parking lot and pulled into a space directly under a lighted sign with the words Miller Coal Mine Number 3 painted on it in large red letters. The two men in the car, Billy Lee Preston, and JW Dillon, were looking forward to the end of third shift. Both men were from Lawrence County, Kentucky and from a long line of coal miners. They were in Illinois because the pay was better in the Miller Coal Mines, much better than what they could make in the coal mines back home in Kentucky. Their plan for this night was to finish up this last shift before Christmas, then jump into JW’s Ford and head home for a well-deserved weeklong holiday break. Preston was looking forward to seeing his wife and three children and spending the holidays with them. JW was unmarried, with only his mother at home as immediate family. His plans were very different. He intended to see his mother, celebrate Christmas day with her before spending the rest of his time and wages in the local bars and whorehouses that were permanent fixtures in most coal mining towns spread across Appalachia.

Billy Lee and JW grabbed their lunch-pails from the back seat of the coupe and headed over to a group of men standing under a dim floodlight. Billy Lee and JW represented two of the two hundred and sixteen men that comprised the number 2 shift at Miller Coal Mine Number 3. The night was cold and at 4:00 in the afternoon the sky was already turning dark.  Flood lights cast a dim yellow glow over the men as they gathered at the lamp-house where they retrieved their hard hats, headlamps, and other equipment they needed before descending over 500 feet below the surface of the earth to the working face of the Number 3 mine. The men were in all good spirits, no doubt looking forward to a well-deserved Christmas break. All just wanted to finish this shift, get cleaned up and head home for the holidays, wherever home was.  However, for 119 members of the number 2 shift, Christmas day 1971 would never come.

Now listen-up, the underground shift foreman said. I know this is the last shift before we shut down for Christmas but that doesn’t mean you start your vacation now. I expect a full shift’s work and no grab ass down there. The first guy I catch fucking off or playing grab ass I’ll dock a day’s pay.

The men gave a collective, I’ve heard this bullshit before, groan of acknowledgement.

Alright, first group head to the cage and let’s get this shift over with, so we can enjoy the holidays. The foreman said.

The cage was, in fact, a creaking mechanically operated metal elevator that looked indeed like the cage it was. It held about 100 men and descended almost a mile into the depths of the mine at a rate of about 10 feet per second completing the initial 500 foot descent in less than a minute.

Billy Lee and JW were in the second group of men to make the descent. Waiting for the cage to return to the surface, JW noticed someone had hastily scrawled Merry Christmas to the Night Crew on the billboard located next to the entrance to the cage. JW pointed the note out to Billy.

Yeah, just as soon as we get out of this hell hole and are headed back to good’ole K.Y. Billy Lee replied.

The noise of the cage lifting engine and rumbling of the pulleys and wires made conversation difficult. So, both men stood in silence waiting for the arrival of the cage back on the surface ready to take the second group of men down into the main tunnel of the mine. The time was 4:45 PM.

The familiar bell signaling the cage was back on the surface and ready to take on the second group of miners was not long in coming. Billy and JW took their usual places in the back of the cage waiting for the bell to ring a second time signaling the cage door was closing and the descent to portal number 4 of the mine was about to begin.

The 50 second descent was uneventful. Billy and JW arrived at the bottom of the mine only to await their turn for a second mode of mining transportation, an electric motorized tram running on a narrow gauge set of railroad tracks that would transport them to their working area about a half mile further down the main tunnel. As number 2 shift got to work this same tunnel would be returning with mining cars loaded with loose coal for transport to the surface.  Taking seats in the number two car of the tram, they rested their tin lunch boxes on their laps and settled in for the five minute ride to their work site further down the tunnel. On either side of the tunnel ran a series of electric wires, lights and pneumatic hoses supplying both the illumination to work in an environment that otherwise would be pitch black. These life lines also supplied the power for the drills, roof bolters, augers, ventilators, and countless other pieces of equipment necessary to scratch coal from the bowels of the earth and keep the  men alive in a foreign environment where nature never intended man to inhabit.  The time was 5:30 PM.

Billy and JW were roof bolters, a job acknowledged among coal miners as the most dangerous job in the business, since roof bolters work in the most unsecured section of the mine, reinforcing the roof of the mine to prevent cave-ins. And this particular mine had a history of cave-ins with portions of a now unused tunnel currently abandoned because of previous cave-ins. The tunnel deemed too unsafe to work.

Son-of-bitch.  JW shouted over the cacophony of machinery noise.

What? Billy asked.

Those first shift guys. They were supposed to complete 4 right and 5 right.  Shit, they’re not even close to finishing those sections. We’re going to have to do it and play catch-up. Damn it! JW shouted.

Yeah, not exactly how I wanted to start Christmas break, dead-ass tired with an eight-hour drive ahead of us. Billy Lee retorted. But I guess we better get to it.

The two men worked steadily for over two hours drilling and bolting the four-foot long and one inch in diameter steel roof bolts into the ceiling of the mine. Each section of the mine required six four foot long bolts spaced four feet apart in sixteen separate rows. In this pre-robotic era, the drilling and the placing of each bolt was done manually, requiring the men to physically position and operate a heavy pneumatic drill using only their own muscle power and a heavy metal tripod to control the drill. This process was then followed by lifting the fifteen pound bolt into place, then changing the tool head on the pneumatic drill from an auger bit to a socket to allow the tool to drive the bolt into the roof of the mine and hopefully into solid rock, safely anchoring the bolt into the ceiling.  Once the bolt was anchored the process started all over again, beginning with relocating the entire contraption four feet to bore the next hole.

It was hard, fatiguing work in a damp environment filled with coal dust that coated any exposed flesh with a fine black powder. The only parts of the bodies not covered in coal dust were their eyes and thin lines on their faces where streaks of perspiration washed away some of the dust giving them a ghostly appearance in the yellow glow of the mine’s dim incandescent illumination. 

To most men not used to this type of work this was hell itself, but to a couple of boyhood friends who grew up in the coal country of Eastern Kentucky, it was a living. In fact, it was the only living they knew. Both started working in the mines before their eighteenth birthday and their shared experience not only taught them the mining business but taught them to work together like a well-oiled machine. Above ground or below the ground they were an inseparable team. 

Damn. JW shouted over the noise of the pneumatic drill, Let’s take a break, I’m starved.   

Billy glanced down at his watch and in the light of his hard-hat headlamp he saw it was almost 7:30. Yeah, it’s time for dinner. Let’s knock off and eat, I’m starved too. 

They retrieved their tin lunch boxes from under a tarp where they stowed them when they arrived at their work site. The tarp covering was a vain attempt to keep coal dust from getting into the tin lunch boxes, but after just a couple of months even the tin boxes smelled like coal.  

Taking a seat on the damp mine floor and leaning against the mine wall they stretched their legs straight out trying to get as comfortable as possible. Coal dust still hung in the air from the last roof bolt they installed, but after years of being in coal mines they were accustomed to the dust and it didn’t deter them from digging into a couple of spam sandwiches washed down with some lukewarm black coffee from the thermos jugs they brought with them.

So, Billy Lee what did you get your wife for Christmas? JW asked, taking another bite out of his sandwich.

She’s been wanting this new coat she saw over at Spencer’s department store over in Paintsville. So last time I was home I put it on layaway, and I made arrangements for my sister, Carol Lee, to pick it up and bring it over to the house tomorrow morning so I can surprise Loretta with it Christmas morning. How bout you? What you’d get your Ma for Christmas?

I’m just gonna give her money. She knows better than I do what she needs, so I just give her money and let her buy whatever she wants.

Damn, JW, that’s no Christmas gift. You always give her money. Hell, you send her money each payday. You need to give her something special on Christmas. If nothing else, take her shopping when you get home to pick something out and then to a nice restaurant for dinner Billy said.

Yeah, that’s a good idea. I think I’ll do that. Hey Billy, what time is it? JW asked.

Billy glanced down at his watch, his headlamp illuminating the dial that read 7:40. But before Billy could reply a deafening blast erupted from deeper down the tunnel in the part of the mine that had been sealed off.  The noise of the blast was followed by a cloud of choking coal dust and the sound of timbers cracking and breaking under the weight of thousands of tons of rock dislodged by the explosion. The lights in the tunnel blinked a few times and then when dark. Their only illumination was now limited to the battery powered headlamps on their hard hats, which at best provided only a few feet of visibility through the thick dark clouds of coal dust that now hung in the air.

Instinctively both men jumped to their feet and started at a fast run in the direction of the cage. Nobody had to tell them to get as far down the main tunnel toward the cage and the exit portal as fast as possible. They well knew the dangers of a mine explosion. Anybody who lived in mining country had a friend or relative that was either injured or killed in similar mining accidents and both Billy and JW well understood if the falling rock didn’t kill you then the deadly methane and carbon monoxide gas would unless you got to safety quickly.

Billy was in the lead and as he ran, he could hear the roof bolts he and JW just installed in section four right cracking. Each one sounded like a high-powered rifle being fired as it broke under the stress of thousands of pounds of steel twisting torque.  

About 300 feet down the tunnel toward the cage, Billy stopped briefly to check his bearings. With only a headlamp and a few flashlights being carried by other miners attempting to escape, the tunnel was totally dark, which added to the danger. The lack of light, plus the panic caused by the explosion and cave-in, would make it easy to get lost in the darkness and wander off down into one of the many crosscut tunnels that intersected the main tunnel, finally succumbing to the poisonous gas even if the tunnel roof held. With the darkness broken only by the beams of their battery powered lights dancing erratically across the walls and ceiling of the tunnel, the men continued to move quickly toward a hopefully fully functioning cage and escape to safety above ground. 

Billy paused not wanting to get trampled in the rush and before resuming his own escape to take a quick glance back expecting to see JW right on his heels. But JW wasn’t there, and Billy felt a quick pang of panic grip his gut.

JW, where the hell are you? Billy yelled out as loud as he could and then tried to listen for an answer over the noise of a hundred men running for their lives, but he heard nothing. Billy let some of the other men behind him pass and when he saw it was clear turned and headed back down the tunnel in the direction he came from and back into dust, darkness, and danger. But he just couldn’t leave without his friend or at least knowing he did everything possible to save his friend.

Another 50 yards down the tunnel he stopped. This time he was alone. All the men from this part of the mine were either already dead, trapped or had gotten to safety.

JW. he yelled again. This time in the absence of panic stricken men running for their lives there was relative quiet and he heard a faint response in the form of a low painful  groan.

Over here. The voice said.

Billy immediately recognized his friend’s voice, coming from further down the tunnel. With adrenaline pumping through his body Billy ran with almost super human effort toward the direction of the voice.   It didn’t take him long to find JW. He was about another 25 yards