Mr. New York

The Autobiography of Grover A. Whalen

Grover A. Whalen

• Publisher: Papamoa Press
• Year: 2018
• eBook ISBN: 9781789128185
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: American Civil War History
• Index: History

Someone has said that New York is not a city—it's a way of life. Few men who have won prominence have better exemplified this way of life, and the things that make the New Yorker what she is today, than Grover Whalen. Born in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge, he became Rodman Wanamaker's right-hand man, Mayor Hylan's secretary and a City Commissioner, then Jimmy Walker's Police Commissioner, and New York's Host for 35 years and seven Mayors. The climax of his career undoubtedly was the 1939-40 World's Fair, a $130, 000, 000 dream come true. Everyone has heard of Grover Whalen's exploits, and his fashion-plate figure in an immaculate morning coat and topper has been an integral part of the scene at all the most important events of the past four decades.Through the pages of his spirited and disarming autobiography pass the great and prominent men and women of our times—kings and queens, statesmen, politicians, heroes and adventurers. Here are firsthand portraits of Albert and Elizabeth of Belgium, Marie of Rumania, George VI and the Queen Mother of England, the Prince of Wales, Churchill, and such American idols as Eisenhower, MacArthur, LaGuardia, Lindbergh, Admiral Byrd, and Gertrude Ederle. He has also known many of the controversial figures of our day, men like William Randolph Hearst and former Mayor O'Dwyer. He talks of them, and of a varied and fascinating assortment of other celebrities, freely and frankly. Here are inside stories of New York's political world and nostalgic reminiscences of the East Side. Here too are accounts of Mr. Whalen's trips abroad to win foreign support for the Fair; of his interviews with Mussolini and others; of vacations in Ireland, the land of his forefathers; and of a wartime mission in Alaska.He tells his story with the geniality and urbane humor that have made him famous. Few men have had as many friends everywhere as Grover Whalen: this book makes the reasons for this amply clear.

XII

WHEN WORD was received in New York at 5:30 P.M. that Lindbergh had landed safely at Le Bourget, the demonstration that followed was second only to the excitement engendered when the Armistice was announced. Automobile horns began incessant tooting, movie houses interrupted their features to announce, “Lindy made it.” Mayor Walker notified all city departments whose plants had steam whistles to sound them. Within a few minutes sirens were shrieking, whistles were blowing, and ferryboats and tugboats were going full strong. It was quite a sight to see men and women gathered outside radio supply stores standing in respectful attention as loudspeakers carried to them the radio announcement of Lindbergh’s safe arrival, followed by the playing of the French and American national anthems.

Lindy fell heir to the careful plans made in Paris and London by Commander Fitzhugh Green, acting for the America Trans-Oceanic Corporation, and prepared for the flight of the America.

News of the receptions given Lindbergh during his ten days in Paris and in London, where he was received at Buckingham Palace, was devoured eagerly by all. Smiles came upon the faces that read of his telling Ambassador Herrick that he had brought two or three letters of introduction with him because “this is a new country to me and nobody knows me here.” The delightful wire sent by Ambassador Herrick from Paris to Mrs. Lindbergh in Detroit was made public, and I think everyone in America felt it had been addressed to them personally, so great was their pride in the young flyer’s accomplishment. The wire read:

Warmest congratulations. Your incomparable son has honored me by becoming my guest He is in fine condition and sleeping sweetly under Uncle Sam’s roof.

MYRON HERRICK

Perhaps the greatest tribute paid by France was the flying of a large American flag all day over the Foreign Office—the first time in history that such an honor had been accorded to any other than a sovereign.

Colonel Lindbergh returned to the United States as a guest of the government, aboard the cruiser Memphis, which docked at the Washington Navy Yard, June 11, 1927.

The press made much at the time of the fact that it took him four times as long to return as to fly to Europe—136 hours and 24 minutes from Cherbourg to Cape Henry.

Our original plan for his arrival in New York City was for Lindbergh to fly the Spirit of St. Louis to Governor’s Island where he would be picked up by the Macom for his official New York welcome.

Motor trouble forced the cancellation of this plan, and instead Lindbergh flew up from Washington on Monday morning, June 13, in an army pursuit plane. An air cavalcade of twenty-three planes, twenty-one of which were Army planes, accompanied him. Commander Richard E. Byrd was in one of them.

Colonel Lindbergh’s amphibian, piloted by Captain Ira Eaker (one of the Army’s Pan-American Goodwill fliers who had just flown around South America), circled several times overhead before landing in the Narrows. He was soon surrounded by innumerable boats large and small. Sergeant John Weisenreider, in charge of the police launch, rescued him and brought him aboard the Macom.

As Lindbergh jumped from the police boat to the lower deck of the Macom, Captain René Bouygue, who was president of the French War Veterans in the United States, with Gallic spirit snatched the French Legion of Honor medal from his own coat and pinned it onto Lindbergh’s lapel saying, “Comrade, what is mine is yours.”

As Lindbergh went aboard the Macom, bedlam broke loose in the harbor. Captains of tugboats and steamers stopped their regular runs to do honor to Lindbergh. The small Macom was squeezed in the center of a throng of vessels, all blowing their whistles. The harbor welcome was warm and genuine but also exceedingly dangerous. Even the Coast Guard, with all its available cutters, could not keep the course of the Macom clear of the other vessels which kept cutting across our bow.

Fortunately we arrived at Pier A without incident. The din of the whistles of the harbor vessels was picked up by the automobiles and the multitudes of people waiting at the Battery. The noise was deafening. None of us had expected quite such pandemonium, enormous as the enthusiasm for Lindbergh had been ever since his arrival in Paris. When we were making our original arrangements for Lindbergh’s reception, Mayor Walker had requested the Board of Education to declare a holiday. As a result, a million schoolchildren lined the curbs of the streets through which Lindbergh was to pass. I had never seen such crowds at any previous reception.

At the Battery the masses of people almost got out of hand. It was here that Lindbergh showed the only change in his expression that was evidenced throughout the whole day’s festivities. Some felt he was aloof. Others thought he acted as if it were all a dream.

When we left the Macom at Pier A, we walked to the open car that was to take Lindbergh up Broadway, and got into the automobile. Our chauffeur, slightly excited by the presence of the Lone Eagle, pressed the accelerator so hard that the car lurched forward and swept Lindbergh off his feet. He would have somersaulted backward and out of the car if I hadn’t caught him by the leg and pulled him back into the car. He looked a little white, then. The crowd about us gasped at the near tragedy. (I requested that the official car be manned by a police chauffeur at every reception after that)

We finally were able to get going. Amid storms of ticker tape and frantic cheers we drove slowly up lower Broadway. The excitement was terrific, and in a way almost frightening to me.

Police estimated later that there were 80,000 at the Battery and along Broadway. I can well believe there were. As we drove up to City Hall it was impossible to see an inch of space unoccupied in the windows and sides of the buildings along lower Broadway. The old Aquarium’s roof was covered with people, and the windows, cornice and roof of the Customs House were so jammed with people that the overflow had perched themselves atop the symbolical statuary figures of the building. There was a report that some windows along Broadway had been rented by their enterprising owners for $1,000.

The Colonel seemed to enjoy it, but he kept a level head and impressed both the Mayor and me as a cool individual for a man of his age.

As we turned from Broadway into City Hall Plaza, I happened to notice a tall, thin man holding a press card being given what is commonly called the “bum’s rush” by the police in Warren Street. I recognized the profile of the gentleman and realized it was no less a personage than William Randolph Hearst. He had been covering the story himself as a reporter from the moment Lindbergh boarded the Macom until he reached City Hall. Considering the crowd, it is not surprising that a zealous police officer felt it would be too much to allow one more reporter to enter City Hall Plaza, where hundreds of press representatives were already waiting. I was able to direct the motorcycle officer alongside the car in which we were riding to rescue Mr. Hearst and permit him to cover his story with the other members of the press at City Hall.

At City Hall Mayor Walker extended the welcome of the City of New York to the famous flier in his own characteristic style. It should be remembered that the welcome thus far accorded Lindbergh had been a formal one, climaxed by an address of congratulations by the President of the United States, Calvin Coolidge.

Mayor Walker stepped up to the microphone and turning to Colonel Lindbergh, said: “Let me dispense with any unnecessary official formalities, Colonel, by telling you that if you have prepared yourself with any letters of introduction to New York City they are not necessary.”

The Mayor continued, saying that since everybody all over the world and in every language had been telling Lindbergh all about himself, where he was born and where he had gone to school, he would not go into these facts.

“But,” said Jimmy, “the one thing that occurs to me that has been overlooked in all the observations that have been made of you is that you are a great grammarian, and that you have given added significance and a deeper definition to the word ‘we.’

“We have heard, and we are familiar with, the editorial ‘we,’ but not until you arrived in Paris did we learn of the aeronautical ‘we.’ Now you have given to the world a flying pronoun.”

He concluded: “You can hear the heartbeats of the six million people that live in this City of New York. And the story they tell is one of pride and one of admiration for courage and intelligence; is one that has been born out of and is predicated upon the fact that as you went over the ocean you inscribed ...

Table of contents

• Title page
• TABLE OF CONTENTS
• DEDICATION
• ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
• I
• II
• III
• IV
• V
• VI
• VII
• VIII
• IX
• X
• XI
• XII
• XIII
• XIV
• XV
• XVI
• XVII
• XVIII
• XIX
• XX
• XXI
• XXII
• XXIII
• XXIV
• XXV
• XXVI
• XXVII
• XXVIII
• REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER