The Zimmermann Telegram, or How A Campaign Promise Lost Its Punch*
Woodrow Wilson campaigned for re-election in the 1916 presidential campaign on the slogan “He kept us out of war.” He won by the thinnest of margins because of the implicit promise that he would continue to keep American out of the war that had ravage Europe for two years. The United States was neutral, isolationist, xenophobic, and happy to stay that way. (You see where this is going, right?)
Wilson had barely been sworn into office when international events made it difficult to keep that promise. In February, Germany broke its pledge to limit submarine warfare. In response, the United States broke off diplomatic relations with Germany. Anti-German sentiment began to spread.
The triggering event that brought America into the war occurred on February 24, when the British shared a little tidbit they’d been sitting on for a month. In January, British cryptographers deciphered a telegram they had intercepted from German Foreign Minister Arthur Zimmermann to Germany’s ambassador, Heinrich von Eckhardt. The telegram instructed von Eckhardt to offer Mexico land in Texas, New Mexico and Arizona (all areas that Mexico had previously lost to the United States) in exchange for alliance with Germany.
Five days later, the contents of the Zimmermann telegram appeared in the American press. Public flipped like an Olympic gymnast.
United States declared war on Germany on April 6, 1917: a latecomer in a war that made no sense.**
* I really wanted to title this post “That Time Western Union Started a War.” But sometimes a body has to show restraint.
**That’s a hundred years ago today, in case you didn’t catch it. Expect commemoration. In fact, go looking for it. Here’s a link to get you started: http://www.pritzkermilitary.org/explore/wwi/
Illuminate: An Invitation
Last week several of my writing friends and I embarked on a small adventure:* a Facebook Group called Illuminate–Shining the Light on Fabulous Nonfiction. (That tagline may have changed by the time you get there. It’s a work in progress.) Our goal is to connect readers who love mainstream narrative nonfiction–history, biography, literary studies, cultural studies–to the very best books and spark conversations about them. (The books, not the readers.) I think some/most/all of you share my passion for narrative history. I’d love to have you join us.
Membership is pretty painless. Unlike joining the Shriners or the Boy Scouts or the PTA, there are no meetings to attend. There isn’t even a secret handshake.**
If you’re interested, just go HERE and click the Join button. One of us will approve your membership and you’re in.***
And when the group has grown to a bazillion eager readers, you’ll be able to say you were there when it all began.
See you there?
*Because none of us have enough to do writing books.
**Though I must admit, I’m fond of funny hats. And I suspect we’d all qualify for a reading merit badge.
***We will not, however, approve creepy guys cruising Facebook, skeezy porn chicks, or bots. Unless they can prove that they read history and like it.
How the Wickedest City in the American West Created Frontier Justice In Spite of Itself
Tom Clavin opens Dodge City: Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson and the Wickedest Town in the American West with Masterston stepping off the train in Dodge City, expecting trouble. The scene is tense; Clavin deliberately evokes the images of lawlessness, and violence associated with the city’s name. (Not to mention similar images attached to Masterston himself.)
The uneasy relationship between that violence and the creation of a system of frontier justice lies at the heart of Dodge City. Clavin builds on the premise that most of the books and films about Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, Doc Holiday and Dodge City itself are fiction, “including the ones published as nonfiction.” He sets up popular images, then carefully dissects them in search of a measure of historic truth. (Not an easy task. Legend and misinformation appeared almost immediately, thanks to the popular press, dime novels, and inconsistencies in the accounts of the characters involved.) He follows his main characters, their relatives, and an enormous cast of cowboys, outlaws, and lawmen through their travels in and out of Dodge City. More importantly, he sets “the wickedest town in the West” in its historical context of buffalo hunting, cattle drives, westward expansion of the railroads and a national sense of manifest destiny.
The result is a colorful and careful depiction of a city in transition. As Clavin presents it, Dodge City was violent, lawless, and complex. The dividing line between outlaw and lawman was fluid. And justice was a moving target.
Most of this review previously appeared in Shelf Awareness for Readers.