A Voice from Missouri's Artful Past: Thomas Hart Benton (1889-1975)

One of my more unusual historical research projects occurred during summer 2011, and involved what was thought to be an unpublished 1960’s audio interview with Missouri Regionalist artist Thomas Hart Benton (1889-1975).

At the time I worked as a researcher and appraiser for Dirk Soulis Auctions, a Kansas City metro area auction house that specializes in fine art. The interview had been consigned as part of an archival group of Thomas Hart Benton material, which also included typed transcripts of questions and answers.



The recording had been made on quarter inch reel-to-reel tape, common for the era. Naturally, confirmation that the recording and transcripts matched was vital before offering the lot at auction, and I was the only one at the firm with access to a reel to reel tape player.

I brought the reels and transcripts back to my home recording studio and discovered - with horror - that the feed reels were too large to fit my player. The only option was to miracle together an outboard reel spindle from an empty CDr spindle pack, with the aid of a sharpened pencil, hand-trimmed CD backtray insert, and a Danish five Kroner coin spacer - useful here for it's pierced center.

I lined the reel-to-reel’s signal directly into a cassette deck in order to have a more convenient recording of whatever played when I switched it on. Owing to the delicacy of the forty-plus year old quarter-inch tape and the, uh, tentative nature of my reel spindle engineering, I figured I had one shot at playback.

After a couple of test runs with an extra reel, I went for it:

Success! I was able to record a few minutes of the original interview - enough to confirm the recording matched two of the transcripts, anyway. The lot went on to realize $675 (plus buyer's premium) at auction that November.

Unfortunately I have no idea what became of the original recording, or if the interview was ever fully transferred to another format for preservation. But at the very least I still have a cassette recording of a few minutes of the interview with the late, great Thomas Hart Benton as a souvenir.

New as of May 15, 2016, hear part of the interview here:

1918: Joseph Pennell's Fourth Liberty Loan Poster and a YMCA Postcard

I was recently researching a group of items that included an eye-catching World War I postcard, published by the YMCA’s Department of Reception for Returning Troops. What compelled me to interrupt this important research project and scribble these lines was the second full-length album by my own band, Ares Kingdom, entitled “Incendiary” (2010, NWN! Productions), featured a famous illustration by American artist Joseph Pennell (1857-1926), and the postcard image seemed very familiar.

Pennell's work had been a promotional poster for the USA’s Forth Liberty Loan campaign of 1918, originally entered by him into a competition sponsored by the Pictorial Division of the Committee on Public Information. Pennell had originally wanted to title the poster, “Buy Liberty Bonds or You Will See This,” but was overruled by the governing committee whose choice was, “That Liberty Shall Not Perish from the Earth.” The printing run would reach half a million.

By early 1918, the war had been raging for three and a half years. The dazzling speed with which winged flight had evolved since the Wright brothers’ first success in 1903 had effectively abolished distance in the minds of many, and reports of its military applications filled newspapers with tales of both heroism and terror.

It was to the latter of these that Pennell now appealed. In stark shades of red, orange and black, Pennell depicted Lady Liberty strafed by, we presume, a squadron of German biplanes on their way to bomb New York City into submission. Liberty's torch, the symbolic light of freedom, lies severed at the foot of the pedestal, while the waters of the Hudson lap against half her face which has been blasted away. German submarines – another source of technological terror brought about by the war, are seen cruising toward Manhattan Island, while merchant ships - noticeably out of scale, lie broken on the shore or sinking in the distance.

Not long after the poster's publication in 1918, Pennell published an account of the poster's creation in Joseph Pennell's Liberty Loan Poster - A Text Book for Artists and Amateurs [...] with notes, an introduction and essay on the Poster by the Artist, and Associate Chairman of the Committee on Public Information, Division of Pictorial Publicity, (J.B. Lippincott Co.). In addition to describing the complex and frustrating printing process, Pennell states that the illustration's form “came into my head, and I jotted it down in my sketchbook, on the train, with a lithographic pencil, and though the bridges are in the air the design otherwise has scarcely been changed.”

Not being entirely sure which came first - the poster or the postcard - it seems unlikely to me that Pennell glossed over or purposely omitted mentioning this postcard if it was indeed the inspiration for his iconic poster. What seems more likely to me is that the YMCA, knowing how familiar Americans would be with the poster, published this photo composite in tribute.

Of course now that the war had ended in Allied victory and American troops were returning home to a grateful nation, the attitude and perspective are altogether different. This time the view is away from the city, toward the calm waters of the Atlantic Ocean. A vigilant battleship lies in the distance, helping keep the world “safe for democracy.” Lady Liberty stands whole – her crown now retouched and given a distinct glow, as a solitary pre-war Curtiss Golden Flyer biplane soars gracefully above.

It was now time to unleash the Roaring Twenties!

The German Occupation of Denmark, 1940-1945

May 5, 2015 marks the 70^th anniversary of the liberation of Denmark from Nazi Germany, so the latest installment of American Chimera’s e-archeology project of digging up my old Manion’s International Auction House listings and Trendline articles features a special piece published in 2000.

Countless historians have addressed nearly every aspect of Hitler’s insatiable lust for conquest, but the invasion of Denmark is usually mentioned only as an aside to the invasion of Norway. 

Danish collaboration is well documented. There was the ever splintering D.N.S.A.P. (Danish National Socialist Workers Party), the complex personality of pre-war Nazi Party member Christian Frederick von Schalburg, and the Frikorps Danmark Division, including its later incarnation as part of the Nordland Division. But less is remembered today of the political climate in Denmark throughout the latter half of the 1930's that formed the basis for such a collaboration. There was the outward admiration of the German Nazi Party felt by certain people of influence like writers Morten Korch, Johannes V. Jensen, and popular actor Christian Arhoff. 

Memorial to fallen Danish volunteers

In retrospect, German intentions seemed all too clear before the invasion on April 9, 1940. It seems incredible now how everyone from King Christian X, his Government, to British Prime Minister Chamberlain and Winston Churchill were caught by surprise by the invasion. Aerial reconnaissance had shown German troop and material build up in Baltic ports, as well as increased maritime activities towards Norway. There was even a case of R.A.F. planes strafing German ships in the Skagerrak.

Germany was not invading Denmark and Norway for lebensraum, as was claimed in the eastern lands. The Nordic countries were strategic geographic regions useful to either the Axis or the Allies, whoever got there first. Different also were the peoples of these two nations. They were “Aryans” in the purest sense, and the Nazi propaganda machine churned out some of its most turgid work to differentiate them from the “subhumans” they claimed to be “liberating” the eastern lands from.

Germany has occupied Danish and Norwegian soil in order to protect those countries from the Allies, and will defend their true neutrality until the end of the war. Thus an honored part of Europe has been saved from certain downfall.

Outside the Danish Resistance Museum, Copenhagen

The invasion itself was carefully planned and executed, and initial Danish resistance was minimal. The King, Prime Minister Stauning, and Foreign Minister Edvard Munch had inexplicably ignored Army Commander-in-Chief General W.W. Pryor’s previous pleas for mobilization. Nevertheless, minor skirmishes were reported in Jutland, and the Royal Guard traded shots with the invaders around the King’s castle, Amalienborg, in Copenhagen. Thirteen Danish soldiers were killed and two German planes were shot down in the fighting. As it was, the Germans would have their hands full with Norwegian defenses and needed Denmark as a staging area. If there was any thought of continued resistance in Denmark that morning, the appearance of Luftwaffe bombers over Copenhagen quelled it immediately. These bombers had been in route to bomb the capital but were re-ordered to simply fly over by the German Chief of Staff for Denmark, General Himer - at very nearly the last minute.

So, what was it like to live in a German “protectorate?” My wife’s grandparents, who were in their early twenties during the occupation, remember vividly, so I put a series of questions to them about life during those five years. Farmor and Farfar (Grandmother and Grandfather) were living in Copenhagen. Grandfather Eli called Farmor that morning with news of the invasion. The appeal for non-resistance from King Christian X and Prime Minister Torvald Stauning had appeared on the front page of Denmark’s oldest newspaper, Berlingske Tidende. As radio stations came on the air that morning, listeners were told to remain calm and there would be no trouble. The family telephoned one other and their friends all morning for simple reassurances.

There was a short firefight in the street outside their apartment, and a Dane was killed. Flowers that Farmor and Farfar left everyday were always removed by the invaders. Since their apartment was on the ground floor, shots were known to zip through their flat at times, and resistance members knew their door was open for them to flee through and make their escape down an adjacent street.

Nationwide order was kept outwardly, and life went on as it always had, at least at first. Eventually food was rationed with coupons, and became so expensive that the black market was a natural alternative. Clothing was also harder to come by, but the family found ways around that by making needed bits like light jackets from disused parachutes.

Danish Resistance Museum

By April 10, 1940, Stauning had managed to set up a coalition government between the Social Democrats, the Conservative People’s Party, the Single-Tax Party (Danmarks Retsforbund), and the Radical Liberal Party. On the first anniversary of the invasion, the Danish ambassador in Washington D.C., Henrik Kaufmann signed the Atlantic Pact and handed over bases in Greenland to the United States. Stauning died in May 1942 and was replaced by a fellow Social Democrat, Vilhelm Buhl. Erik Scavenius, who was known for his shrewd work in keeping Denmark neutral during the First World War, became Foreign Minister in July 1943, and was Prime Minister by November.

Curfews also became a way of life. No one was allowed out after eight in the evening, and there were to be no groups of more than five in the streets. After Germany turned on the Soviet Union in June 1941, the Communist Party was banned, and its 246 party members were sent to concentration camps.

Danish Resistance Museum

Eli had worked on the streetcars during the first few years of the occupation, and then began driving ambulances for the emergency services company Falck in 1943. Evelyn, who was pregnant with their first son in 1940, worked in a delicatessen. They were required to make “Danish Red Cross Food Parcels,” which they later found out were actually for German troops, not that it was a surprise.

Denmark was promoted as “a model protectorate” for its advanced, civilized, and good-natured citizenry, but the seeming conciliatory mood of the Danes towards the occupying Germans had limits. Unlike any other occupied country, Germany allowed Denmark to hold free elections in April 1943. The result was tremendously embarrassing for the Nazis as Stauning’s coalition government was returned by 94% compared to the Danish National Socialist Party’s miserable 2.1%, just three seats.

Evelyn remembers the invaders as friendly and respectful, but all the time aware the Danes were not very thrilled by their presence. When Denmark was pressured by Berlin to enact Anti-Jewish laws, King Christian’s taut reply was a work of art. He said Denmark had no need for Anti-Jewish laws since they did not “share Germany’s fear of the Jews.” Ultimately 492 Jews were arrested and sent to Theresienstadt concentration camp in Czechoslovakia, but a spectacular national effort secreted 6000 of Danish Jews safely across the Kattegat and Øresund to neutral Sweden in October 1943.

King Christian X was famous for his daily horseback rides through the streets of Copenhagen. As a show of solidarity with his people, he took no bodyguard with him, and when asked why he replied that “the hearts (of all Danes) are guarding the King of Denmark.” He further managed to irritate the invaders by sending a telegram of sympathy to Danish Police who were injured during a riot of 300 local Nazis. 

As the war dragged on and the tide turned against Germany, the Danish Resistance increased their activities, and sabotage became one of their most effective weapons. One resistance group known as Holger Danske even boasted my wife’s uncle Harry. The group’s name was inspired by the fictional warrior whose statue sits resolute in the casemates of Kronborg Castle, also the setting for Shakespeare’s Hamlet, in Helsingør. Beneath the castle he dozes in his cold vaults, waking and emerging to defend his beloved Denmark from invaders... 

Often Danish resistance was both intellectual and psychological. While theaters that ran films or plays with anti-German sentiments were closed, students would wear the colors of the R.A.F. in open defiance. One newspaper ran an article about how important it was for all Danes to learn English “before our friends, the British arrive.” German authorities were outraged at the implication and ordered a retraction. The paper agreed to right the wrong and the next day encouraged all Danes to learn German “before our friends, the Germans, leave.”

Germans detained by the resistance, May 1945

Christian Møller had fled to London in 1942 and founded The Free Danes organization. His BBC broadcasts encouraged resistance, and Berlin ordered reprisals by a ratio of 5:1, five murdered Danes for every dead German soldier. In Denmark they were called “clearing murders” and took the place of public firing squads. In a twist of fate, the much loved priest and playwright Kaj Munk, himself an early sympathizer with the Danish conservative youth, who openly admired the German Nazi Party, was murdered. His body was mounted on a fence post with a sign “swine, you worked for Germany just the same.” In August 1943, Berlin sent an ultimatum to the Danish Government which they refused, and subsequently resigned in protest. The Danish Navy scuttled a large part of its fleet, and civil servants took control of their departments.

Field Marshal Montgomery in Copenhagen

When Denmark is Free Again was the title of a pamphlet published by the country’s four largest resistance groups in 1943. It called for legal action against collaborators, and for free democratic elections. Eli and Evelyn remember how the execution of eight Hvidsten group resistance fighters ignited a national strike, and that in September 1944, 2000 members of the Danish Police Force were arrested and deported to concentration camps.

By the time Germany capitulated in May 1945 and British Field Marshall Bernard Montgomery made his triumphant entry into Copenhagen, Denmark had lost nearly 400 sons and daughters.

Notwithstanding the brave rescue of Danish Jews in October 1943, in 2005 prime minister Anders Fogh Rasmussen issued an apology for Jews deported by Denmark from 1940-1943, acknowledging the country was not without some measure of failure regarding the Holocaust.

The Danish Resistance Museum, Copenhagen was recently damaged by fire, though happily the artifacts were not. A new museum is scheduled to open in 2017.

May 4, 2003: An F4 Tornado vs Centuries of History

The 2003 tornado outbreak between April 30th and May 11th was part of a sequence of severe storms now regarded as one of the most prolific in American history. 

May 4th was its most active day, having produced four of the sequence's six F4 twisters, one of which has become known as the North Kansas City tornado. Some of us directly effected by it call it the Manion's tornado, or in my case, the Dr. Eric J. Johansson Memorial tornado, after my late colleague. This particular storm traveled 22 miles and had a confirmed F4 intensity at its maximum as it swept through north Kansas City, Kansas.

I worked at Manion's International Auction House in the research and description (cataloging) department from 1998 to 2006. The company specialized in all manner of historical collectibles - military, civilian and natural, ancient Egypt and Rome through the Gulf Wars. By its end in January 2014, the dust of ages had drifted through the company's doors for three decades.  The business complex included three separate buildings – one main building with offices, an annex that housed the receiving, authentication and description, and imaging departments; plus another large metal building used almost exclusively for storage, all located at the end of North 67th Street in Kansas City, Kansas, atop bluffs overlooking the Missouri River.

My department's job was to produce catalogs and online listings for the historical artifacts and collectibles that were funneled to us after being photographed. We examined the lots and wrote detailed descriptions of each. Well, more or less detailed, depending on the mood the most recent accounting figures had provoked in management. 

We saw a staggering amount of history and wide variety of things. Medals and badges, field gear, edged weapons and firearms, uniforms, personality items, and even large vehicle and aircraft parts. Most lots were brought to us individually packaged, grouped in large tubs, and transported on rolling carts. An often cranky – but always amusing - warehouse coordinator, Larry, was permanently stationed with us to organize outgoing product and transport it all to the warehouse downstairs.

There was a constant struggle between my department and upper management over volume of production vs quality of production. Management's love of volume nearly always won by sheer administrative force, but of course paid the price down the road when buyers commented - or complained - about the brevity or incomplete nature of some descriptions. And production numbers weren't the only area in which we found ourselves often overruled...but that discussion is for another time.

Friday, May 2nd brought one such production battle to a head. Having been ridden hard by management about production numbers for the week, my department of eight had grown restive. To make a point, we decided to overwhelm the warehouse people with more than they could manage on a Friday afternoon. We speedily emptied our hallowed scriptorium of everything but a few tubs of items and a couple of boxed lots, all left on Larry's cart for Monday morning warehousing. Everyone went home to decompress.

Sunday, May 4th saw the necessary ingredients for a meteorological mess assemble, and by mid-afternoon the sky began to spin. Two tornadoes formed at 3:54 pm and 3:55 pm west of Bonner Springs, Kansas and near Leavenworth, Kansas respectively, while our North Kansas City tornado formed at 4:18 pm near Edwardsville, Kansas.

Damage patterns indicate the storm's intensity peaked at F4 as it approached the Missouri River bluffs, i.e. exactly where Manion's was located. The fact that our main building was sheared off at the foundation and the other buildings were damaged or destroyed, the rating seems perfectly accurate. In fact the devastated home nearest the fork at the end of north 67^th street has never been rebuilt. The storm's intensity then fell significantly, down to F1, as it continued on into Missouri, toward Parkville.

As I think back to that afternoon, I'm pretty sure everyone in the area was aware of the severe storms lurking that day. When the first tornado warning came through, we tuned in our local TV stations that had gone wall to wall with coverage.

At the time, my wife, daughter and I were living in south Kansas City, Missouri, about 36 miles southeast of the auction complex. It must have been around 4:25 pm when I walked through our front room, glanced over at the weather update, reporting a tornado on the ground in Kansas City, Kansas. I froze when I saw the vector arrow trajectory of the storm superimposed on a map of Wyandotte County. It looked like a direct hit.

One of my departmental colleagues, Terry, lived just two blocks south of the auction complex, so I called him for a report. He had just watched the twister from his kitchen window and, by his estimate, the storm must have hit or come very close to the auction complex - as well as owner Ron Manion's home, which was less that 1/10 of a mile to the southwest. Terry walked down the road to survey the situation, and about 20 minutes later called with the news that the building was gone. Ron's house was narrowly missed, but had still sustained minor damage from blowing debris. We later learned Ron had witnessed the destruction of the auction complex from a safe room in the lower northeast corner of his house.

After a flurry of calls and game of phone tag, the operations manager confirmed what my colleague had told me, and I was instructed to contact those in my department with the option of turning up the next morning for a salvage operation.

A gnawing fear that the storm probably just drove a stake through the heart of the most unique job any historian could wish for was tempered by the memory that less than six months before, Ron Manion had ordered the consolidation of all upcoming auction items in the basement of the main building. He had also ordered the consolidation of all departments under that same roof.

While this decision had been highly controversial at the time, I do remember thinking that it was smart to have all consignment stored in the basement. I then thought that if the main floor had held, auction consignment representing hundreds - even thousands of years of history - would likely have survived.

My thoughts then turned to the rare Prussian Hussar sergeant-major's attila and pelisse I had finished researching late Friday. It was in fact the last thing I had placed on Larry’s cart to be transported downstairs Monday. What a jest it seemed that these things that had survived a world war might be blown to oblivion by a Midwestern tornado some 85 years after the Armistice.

Early the next morning, we employees parked along either side of North 67^th Street and walked down the newly-installed sidewalk from Ron’s house to the auction complex.

Even from a distance one could see the place was devastated. The main building had indeed been sheared off its foundation. The majority of its mass was scattered down the bluffs and surrounding hills to the north and east, or blown across the river into Missouri. All that remained onsite were a few desks, scattered debris, and three distinct piles of rubble. Buried under the pile nearest the southwest corner of the building was my workspace. Other heaps were on the north side, and near what was once Ron’s office in the northeast corner of the building.

Apart from the main building, the complex included two metal buildings, "annexes" they were called officially, though they looked suspiciously like barns to everyone else. Until Ron had ordered consolidation of all departments in the main building, the receiving department, photography, and my description department had occupied the "annex" nearest the main building. This building survived, though it sustained significant damage. 

Description department until Dec. 2002

The skin and frame of the other building had been completely torn away, and it was as if a giant blender had been at work on its contents. I remember scanning the area on Google Satellite in 2006 - just a year or so after the service came online, and found the low-level images of the complex had been taken during the week after the storm. It gave a great view of the debris field and scattering patterns, and several of us were visible climbing through the ruins.

Anyway, approaching the main building, I noticed a gap between the concrete foundations and crossbeams. Looking between them I could see into the basement, and with relief saw the shelves of consignment still safely stowed. At that point I knew the company could go on, and the mood lightened considerably.

Rubble of my work area

I climbed onto the main floor and began rummaging for the few personal items kept at my desk, and the four dozen or so books I consulted most. Interestingly, I found that because my desk was located in the southwest corner of our room, the two adjoining walls had pancaked onto my area, and served as a protective base of one of the two piles of distinct debris. The result was that I lost nothing from my area, and my computer hard drive and monitor were undamaged.

Surviving photos of my wife and daughter

We spent the early morning on the bluffs and hillside, recovering whatever we could find. A tractor trailer that had been parked along the east side of the main building had been thrown down the hill, coming to rest on a steep incline. Recovery in that thing was like a repelling expedition. By late morning, the Kansas City, Kansas Fire Department came out and gave us complimentary tetanus shots.

Recovering the company servers from the bluffs

By noon attention had shifted to recovering what we could of the company’s formidable militaria and collectibles library. As I recall, the vast majority of the library was found in good, usable condition. Our IT department recovered the company servers which had been blown down the bluffs, and arranged to send them out for data recovery. The process would be successful and see the company back online within a few weeks.

By mid-afternoon we had recovered and stowed what we could, and the main floor was cleared – just in time for a brief rainstorm. Rain soaked through the exposed tile floor and dripped into the basement storage area. This was not cause for too much panic since consignment was mostly stored in sealed plastic tubs, but there were some items too large for tubs, so those were rushed to drier areas. 

Receptionist answering the phone by afternoon

A week later we had resumed our authentication and copy writing duties in a trailer behind the remains of the building, and by late 2003, a new building – this time made of metal instead of the old board and batten - was erected on the undamaged concrete foundations of the old. The company transitioned from print catalogs to online exclusively. Manion’s was sold to a new owner in late 2005 and hobbled along another eight years before finally collapsing in January 2014. 

The rebuilt Manion's, circa 2012