Tag: Great Depression

Franklin Delano Roosevelt: The OG Influencer— No Twitter Just Fireside Chats

Franklin Delano Roosevelt: The OG Influencer— No Twitter Just Fireside Chats

By Rhiannon Al-Saadi

Turning on the radio

A nation on the brink of despair. One man’s voice crackled through the radio. 54 million listeners. Two-thirds of America.[1] Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s fireside chats did not just deliver news, but also wove a thread of hope and unity that transformed the very fabric of political communication. In an age dominated by tweets and soundbites, Roosevelt’s intimate conversations set a powerful precedent for how presidents connected with their citizens. His informal and conversational style turned these broadcasts into what would be famously known as his “fireside chats.” Through his fireside chats Roosevelt was able to connect with people right in their homes, creating a personal feeling. This unprecedented use of technology changed the way Americans looked at the presidency. This revolution in communication highlighted several key themes: the technologically advanced nature of radio, the personal connection and accessibility it afforded, the emergence of celebrity culture, and the lasting lessons it offers for future leaders. Together, these elements illustrated how Roosevelt’s fireside chats informed as well as inspired a nation in need. An examination of Roosevelt’s innovative use of radio reveals a profound and lasting impact on presidential communication, setting a precedent that future leaders, such as John F. Kennedy and Donald Trump, would follow. This analysis highlights a clear pattern of technological advancements in communication strategies, illustrating how each president adapted to evolving media landscapes to engage effectively with the American public.

President Roosevelt was first inaugurated on March 3rd, 1933. During this time, the nation grappled with the Great Depression’s harsh realities. Just eight days after his inauguration, Roosevelt delivered his first national radio address, which became a groundbreaking moment in American history. Around this point the radio emerged. In the 1920s everyone wanted a radio in their home; it was the new thing. By the 1930s, it was in every other home. The 1930 census “showed that 40.3% of all families owned a radio set.” This percentage was even higher “in urban areas, with ownership at 50.0%.” Although radio ownership became increasingly common across much of the United States, it remained less widespread in the South, where economic and geographic factors slowed its growth compared to other regions.[2] A lot can change over the course of a decade. Not long later in the 1940s— “despite the economic crisis— [the] radio became commonplace: 86 percent of homes had sets.”[3] Even though the radio’s popularity coincided with a time of great social and economic upheaval, families still gathered around it. During Roosevelt’s presidency, the radio transformed from a luxury item into a normal part of daily life, deeply embedded in American households and communities. The radio served as a primary means of communication, entertainment, and connection to the world beyond their community. For Roosevelt, this technological shift provided an unprecedented opportunity to speak directly to the American people. According to communication expert Christopher Sterling, Hooper Radio reported “nearly 54 million people (of roughly 82 million adult Americans) tuned in to the broadcast.”[4] Although only half the population owned a radio set, two-thirds were listening in at times. This may seem puzzling at first— today this can be seen by everyone watching a YouTube video but only some actually hit subscribe. For the radio, this was possible because it went beyond just a household item. The radio was a shared, communal resource, something previous technologies lacked. Those without a radio in their homes could easily tune in at a friend’s house, a diner, or even in a car. This made radio listening a shared experience that transcended the boundaries of individual ownership, and in many ways, it brought communities closer together. Roosevelt recognized the power of this medium and began using it to connect directly with the American people during their darkest hours.

Amid the chaos of the Great Depression, the fireside chats were not just a communication tool, but a lifeline for people facing mass unemployment, bank failures, and dramatic deflation. Ranging from 1929 to 1939, the Great Depression marked one of the most severe economic downturns in American history. Nearly a quarter of the workforce was unemployed, families struggled to survive as their savings vanished and businesses collapsed. The stock market crash of 1929 had triggered a financial panic, soon after the banking crisis only worsened that disaster. By the time Roosevelt took office in 1933, more than nine thousand banks had failed, wiping out the savings of millions of Americans.[5] Due to this, public trust in the government and the financial system was at an all-time low, and many Americans were desperate for reassurance and a sense of direction. This put a lot of pressure on Roosevelt, but still he confidently promised to tackle the nation’s economic challenges. Historian Geoffrey Storm notes that “the letters he received from New Yorkers illuminate Depression-era conditions and indicate an early instance of the intimate bond established between Roosevelt and his listeners.”[6] This bond, cultivated through the fireside chats, allowed Roosevelt to directly engage with the anxieties of the American public, offering both guidance and comfort during the nation’s time of uncertainty.

Most historians agree that Roosevelt’s fireside chats significantly impacted political communication. It is how historians approach it where these things differ. The main two approaches reflect the influence from a media history or political history angle. On one hand, historians like Bruce Lenthal, Harold Holzer, and Geoffrey Storm highlight how Roosevelt’s fireside chats influenced media approaches, resulting in more direct and accessible communication with the American people.[7] Lenthal’s work specifically does a deep dive into the radio, analyzing the technological and cultural impact of it. Lenthal argues that the radio is to credit for the rise of modern mass culture. He and Storm examine the technological innovations in relation to the cultural impact of the fireside chats. The two of them are quite interested in the history of the radio, making their contributions slightly narrow. Storm adds substantial information on what the technology of the fireside chats meant for society, such as how it helped reach a wider audience across different regions. Holzer has less of a focus on the radio and more of a focus on the technology relevant at certain times. This is because he looks at the history of media throughout the presidencies, not just at Roosevelt’s radio. Like the other approaches, Holzer looks at technologies’ impact on modern media strategies and its role in engaging the public, though for multiple different presidents. Together these historians draw attention to Roosevelt’s media strategy as they find the fireside chats impact relates to its technologically advanced nature.

On the other hand, there is the political history focus. Political historians look at the impact of Roosevelt’s use of radio on his administration, particularly how it shaped public opinion and solidified his leadership during the crisis. They focus on the fireside chats in terms of fostering national unity and engagement. William Edward Leuchtenburg, Richard W. Steele, and Tom Lewis primarily focus on the public sentiment, rather than the technology.[8] Leuchtenburg emphasizes how Roosevelt’s New Deal policies reshaped American society, with mention of people’s reaction to his fireside chats. Looking at social and political history, Leuchtenburg makes captivating insights on how Roosevelt’s use of radio transformed presidential communication, allowing him to connect directly with Americans in their homes, build trust, and shape public opinion during the Great Depression. Steele’s article “The Pulse of the People: Franklin D. Roosevelt and the Gauging of American Public Opinion,” emphasizes Roosevelt’s strategic methods for gauging public sentiment, highlighting how the president used informal feedback and media interactions to respond to American concerns. By examining Roosevelt’s strategy, Steele is firmly rooted in political history. He continues this focus in his article “The Great Debate: Roosevelt, the Media, and the Coming of the War, 1940–1941.” In this, Steele argues that Roosevelt strategically used the media to gain support for his plans of intervention. Lewis takes these two ideas, from Leuchtenburg and Steele, and combines them when he explores the direct impact of the fireside chats on building a personal connection. Lewis argues the emergence of celebrity culture within the context of radio highlights how Roosevelt utilized the medium to cultivate a public persona. Lewis incorporates a considerable amount of cultural history by looking at the cultural impact of Roosevelt’s political identity. Still, the core focus is on how these efforts were used for political gain, making it political history. These historians generally analyze the broader dynamics of Roosevelt’s fireside chats to public opinion, to do this they take a more legacy related approach to understanding Roosevelt’s impact.

Building on these insights, this analysis will explore how Roosevelt’s fireside chats were successful for both technological and political history reasons. The current historical discussion is limited in its view of the fireside chats. Roosevelt’s use of the radio transformed presidential communication for both technological reasons and the personal connections the fireside chats formed. However, while historians focus on these aspects in isolation, few have fully explored how Roosevelt’s fireside chats laid the groundwork for future presidents. Today, the echoes of Roosevelt’s fireside chats can still be heard in the way presidents communicate with the American people. The groundbreaking fireside chats strengthened Roosevelt’s relationships, created his public persona, and made future presidents embrace the precedent. Roosevelts’ influence cannot be attributed to just one historical category. The combined reasons make a tangible strategy that continued after Roosevelt. The fireside chats represented a game changing development in political communication, due to their technological innovation making them direct and personal. One did not need to be a politician to understand the policies being discussed. At the same time, Roosevelt’s use of radio contributed to the rise of celebrity culture, positioning him as a prominent public figure whose personality resonated with Americans and made him a recognizable and influential leader. Comparisons with future presidents, including but not limited to, John F. Kennedy, who emulated Roosevelt’s personal connection through strong stage presence, and Donald Trump, who harnessed the elements with social media, illustrate how advancements in technology have continually influenced presidential communication strategies. Roosevelt was not setting out to make this precedent, but in trying to help his country recover, he revolutionized the presidency. This raises an important question; how did Roosevelt use the radio to revolutionize the way future presidents communicate with the American people? This analysis will argue that the legacy of the fireside chats is still present today. Where much of the current discussion stops is at Roosevelt’s direct impact, and this fails to address the next question; what have later presidents done to follow in Roosevelt’s footsteps? Ultimately, this analysis aims to contribute to current historiography by highlighting how Roosevelt’s fireside chats not only reshaped the nature of political communication but also established a framework for future leaders to connect with the public in increasingly personal and engaging ways, reflecting the evolving relationship between technology and political communication.

The tech behind the talk

The once revolutionary technology, the radio, transformed how Americans experienced both political news and general culture. The most transformative aspect of the radio was the direct communication it provided. Lenthal, author of Radio’s America, notes the radio as cutting edge technology in the 1930s. For the first time, Americans were able to listen to live broadcasts, giving them unmediated access to national events and shaping their understanding of politics and culture. Lenthal further explains that for people listening “the government that had seemed so far away […], suddenly felt meaningful in his own house.”[9] This is to say previous interactions with the presidency were physically distant and felt that way too. Leuchtenburg said in his book, The FDR Years: On Roosevelt and His Legacy, “most Americans in the previous 160 years had never even seen a President” the news was their only choice.[10] A newspaper represents someone else’s account of events. It is written after the fact, whether that be hours or days later. And then it is read even further from the original date, when a person finally sees it and has time for it. The more and more this goes on, the news begins to feel like a game of Telephone— what once was, now becomes a distant version of the original.[11] None of that could be said for Roosevelt’s fireside chats. He spoke directly to the American people, explaining why his ideas, such as the New Deal, were going to help them. They heard the president speak. From his mouth to their ears, with the exact words he said it to them specifically. To experience the president speaking directly to you, with no delay and no middle man, marked a profound shift in how Americans engaged with their leader. This forever altered the way future presidents would communicate with the American people.

Not only did the radio allow direct unmediated communication with the president, but it also extended the accessibility of information across the nation. By eliminating the barriers of traditional news outlets, the radio made it possible to reach millions of citizens. Previous barriers holding back news accessibility were typically monetary. In the early 1900s, most people got their news through newspapers or newsreels.[12] This means people had to buy each issue or a movie ticket to stay informed. The radio brought political messages into people’s homes, workplaces, and public spaces. This unprecedented ability to broadcast news to such a wide audience at once, fundamentally altered the dynamics of political communication, which enabled Roosevelt to connect with the American public in ways never before imagined. Doing so reshaped the relationship between the government and the citizens. As Steele notes in “The Great Debate: Roosevelt, the Media, and the Coming of the War,” “Roosevelt’s presidential addresses, particularly his fireside chats, were as popular among newsreel viewers as they were among the nation’s radio audiences.”[13] Since radio dominated mass communication during Roosevelt’s presidency, he used it to address millions of Americans, extending his reach greatly. However, it is important to highlight the significance of newsreels, they were brief films screened in movie theaters that showcased significant events. Most would assume that newsreels would be more popular as it was on a screen, something still present today. But while newsreels were widely popular, radio offered an additional layer of accessibility, allowing Americans to tune in directly from their homes without the need for a movie ticket.

While the radio expanded accessibility, it also fostered a collective experience, as millions of Americans listened together in real-time, creating a shared moment of national engagement. Unlike any other medium before it, the radio allowed millions of people to engage with the same event or broadcast simultaneously, creating a sense of collective participation. Not owning a radio did not equal not listening to one.[14] Roosevelt capitalized on this unique characteristic, using his fireside chats not just as a platform for delivering his policies, but as an opportunity to connect the American people. Across the country, people from different families and different towns would come together and have listening parties for Roosevelt’s broadcasts. According to Lenthal, “simply listening to the radio was often a shared experience: Americans in the 1930s typically listened with groups of family or friends.”[15] Figure 1, a 1938 photo, showed how Roosevelt’s real-time address to the nation created an immediate connection with listeners. Even if they were listening cramped up in a small room with nowhere to sit, people would still come together to listen to the radio.[16] The American people were brought together by the shared cultural experience of hearing their president speak directly to them. This type of collective experience was unprecedented at the time— today, we might experience similar collective moments through viral memes with millions of views, but in Roosevelt’s era, the radio was the groundbreaking technology that made such a connection possible.

With a discussion of the technological innovation behind the fireside chats, a key point often missing is the simple aspect that this communication came directly from the President of the United States of America. This was not a slick big business’s PR stunt, nor a cheerful ad for a local store. This was the President, the country’s leader, using this advanced technology to directly engage with the American people. Leutchenbrug confirms that Roosevelt was “the first chief executive to take full advantage of the capacity of radio to project a president’s idea.”[17] What set Roosevelt apart from other figures using the radio stemmed from his unique ability to turn the technological medium into a means of political leadership. Roosevelt used the radio not only to inform but to cultivate a relationship with the people, making them feel personally connected to their government. His broadcasts were more than just announcements. The fireside chats served as a way to project leadership, confidence, and authority during one of the country’s most difficult periods. Roosevelt understood the power of this new communication tool to foster trust, shape public perception, and solidify his influence as the nation’s leader. The impact of his fireside chats reached far beyond the immediate information he conveyed— it transformed the way Americans viewed their president, setting a new standard for political communication that future presidents would adopt and adapt.

Bringing the president home

            Roosevelt broke down the boundaries between the president and the people by forcing himself into American living rooms, giving millions of Americans the sensation that they were having a conversation with the president. Americans tuned in to listen to the president in the comfort of their own homes, creating the sensation that Roosevelt himself stood in the room with them, speaking to each individual as if he was any other friend in their own home. This powerful illustration is captured in Figure 2, a 1940 photograph, “The Fireside Chats: Roosevelt’s Radio Talks.” The photo has a father and daughter intently tuning in to one of these broadcasts, symbolizing the intimate, family-centered atmosphere Roosevelt cultivated through his radio addresses.[18]

The photograph conveys more than words ever could, as listening to Roosevelt speak in one’s own home highlights the personal connection it made the American people feel. Historian Geoffrey Storm put it perfectly when he says that listening to the fireside chats was “a highly personal, immediate experience that reduced the limitations of geographical separation to forge new, wider notions of community.”[19] Roosevelt intended for his fireside chats to sound personal, as though he were addressing each listener individually, rather than delivering a formal, distant speech. At the time, the radio served as a revolutionary technology capable of bringing the president’s voice as though he were right there in the room with them. Prior to radio, people in different sections of the country frequently did not hear directly from the president because of geographic distance.[20] It was so personalized that Lewis notes that “some people placed Roosevelt’s picture beside their radios, so they might see him as he spoke.”[21] This highlights the intimate relationship listeners developed with Roosevelt, viewing him as a personal figure rather than just a distant politician. To have a picture of the president in one’s home means it was a source of comfort, familiarity, and reassurance. Bridging the physical gap between himself and the American people, Roosevelt’s fireside chats helped to strengthen the relationship and make him feel less like an inaccessible politician and more like a trusted presence in every home.

            In addition to creating a personal connection, Roosevelt’s fireside chats were characterized by his use of simple, clear language that spoke directly to the concerns and experiences of ordinary Americans. Roosevelt made that motivation clear too. During his very first fireside chat, on March 12 1933, titled “Fireside Chat on the Banking Crisis,” he emphasized that his actions were “for the benefit of the average citizen.”[22] Instead of using complex political or economic terminology, Roosevelt broke down the issues at hand into terms that anyone could understand, regardless of their background or education. He carefully explained the banking crisis and the steps the government was taking to address it in straightforward language, ensuring that people felt informed and reassured— given the circumstances, that reassurance was certainly needed. He referenced this again seven years later in another fireside chat, having said “I tried to convey to the great mass of American people what the banking crisis meant to them in their daily lives.”[23] Furthermore, not only did Roosevelt talk without political jargon, like a real person, but he as well had an “informal delivery” that contributed to accessibility.[24] Roosevelt’s approachable tone made listeners feel comfortable sending letters to him in response to his fireside chats. For example, F.B. Graham, a woman who wrote to Roosevelt after listening to one of his fireside chats, described them as “neighborly” and noted that “in simple words [he] explained the great things he had done, so that all us unfamiliar” would understand.[25] This letter, written by a listener who was not a political expert but a regular American citizen, demonstrates the easy comprehension of the fireside chats. Roosevelt’s use of simple language, paired with his informal yet authoritative delivery, allowed him to communicate effectively with people across the nation. From this understanding, Roosevelt built a unique relationship with the American people, increasing his popularity. By addressing ordinary citizens in a language they could easily understand, he made complex policy discussions feel personal and approachable, rather than distant and formal.

By speaking in simple, relatable terms, Roosevelt made political issues more understandable, which opened up the political process, encouraging greater public participation and involvement in government decisions. Roosevelt’s decision to speak informally went beyond just making his message clearer to the public. The fireside chats were a deliberate effort to make politics more approachable and relatable for ordinary Americans. The fireside chats were void of political lingo that those “unfamiliar with the technicalities” would be confused by.[26] At the time, political discourse remained largely secluded to the educated elite or political insiders. Roosevelt’s straightforward language invited a wider range of citizens— regardless of their social or educational background— into the conversation. Something essential during this time was that the banking crisis ruined thousands of normal American lives. By opting for simplicity he made it possible for the people being affected to understand the issues at hand. This gave them a sense of participation in the national dialogue and empowered them to engage more deeply with the decisions that shaped their desperate circumstances. By ensuring that Americans from various parts of society understood the topics being discussed, his fireside chats helped close the divide between the public and the government. As historian Leuchtenburg notes, Roosevelt “greatly broadened the political agenda and encouraged outsiders to enter the civic arena” not only through his fireside chats but also by his openness to new ideas and people previously excluded from Washington.[27] By making politics less intimidating, Roosevelt encouraged people to believe that they could engage with and even influence government decisions. Roosevelt himself said this too in his first fireside chat, he made his audience known when he said he was having this broadcast for “the comparatively few who understand the mechanics of banking but more particularly with the overwhelming majority who use banks for the making of deposits in the drawing of checks.”[28] Roosevelt wanted all American listeners to know they were meant to hear this. The fireside chats were not for the banking specialist or politicians, it was to talk to real people with real concerns, who might not fully understand the technicalities of the circumstances. Roosevelt’s fireside chats ultimately contributed to a more informed and involved population by changing their relationship between the people and the government.

The fireside celebrity

            When the radio emerged as a powerful medium, it influenced not only how the American people got their news, but it also marked the birth of a political celebrity. Roosevelt was the first person to mix politics into the entertainment industry, elevating him to household-name status alongside the iconic movie stars of the 1920s and famous athletes. The radio played a crucial role in the development of celebrity culture. Before the rise of the radio, Americans were mostly confined to local communities, with limited access to people or happenings outside of their immediate surroundings.[29] While the film industry had already begun to expand cultural boundaries, the radio offered a different kind of connection. The radio brought national conversations directly into American homes, it was centered on live, real-world content. As for magazine culture, it was alive, but it did not reach people like the radio did.[30] The development of the radio created an expansion of the “bounds of geography.”[31] For example, people in the Midwest could suddenly walk into their living room and hear about the lives of people in the cities. Given that America is not a walkable country, this is essential towards celebrity culture. There cannot be a celebrity culture when regional divides are limiting access. With the radio, every American can listen to events happening nowhere near them, whether it be New York, Hollywood, or overseas. The cities were no longer the sole holders of information—suddenly, anyone anywhere could be an informed citizen. This new level of awareness not only transformed how Americans consumed news but additionally allowed public figures to reach national audiences in ways previously unimaginable. Where once individuals were confined to local newspapers, magazines, or word-of-mouth to hear about the lives of famous people, the radio created an instantaneous, nationwide conversation. It allowed personalities to transcend their regional bases, gaining widespread recognition across the country. This made it possible for figures such as movie stars, musicians, and politicians to become national household names, a phenomenon that would eventually blossom into what is known today as celebrity culture.

            Roosevelt’s widespread media presence cemented his celebrity status, as reflected by the flood of letters he received from ordinary Americans, eager to communicate with their president. The feelings invoked by Roosevelt’s fireside chats made people wish they could talk to him. If the president is already sitting in one’s living room, it only makes sense to continue the conversation by writing to him. Similar to celebrities today, Roosevelt received a lot of fan mail. Roosevelt’s carefully managed persona was embraced by the American people, causing a constant “flow of letters to the White House.”[32] Whether it be a simple hello, a political inquiry, or a message of congratulations— Roosevelt received it all. His desk, often piled high with letters from ordinary citizens, served as a constant reminder of the public persona he fostered with millions of Americans. Each letter was a reflection of their hopes, struggles, and trust in his leadership. According to investigative reporter Stephen Smith, Herbert Hoover, Roosevelt’s predecessor, could not relate. Whereas Hoover received around eight hundred letters a day. Roosevelt received eight thousand.[33] Roosevelt’s ability to connect with the public was not only a product of his own charisma, but also of his family legacy. Harold Holzer, author of President v.s. the Press says that Roosevelt’s cousin, Theodore Roosevelt, had set the foundation for the Roosevelt family’s public image, teaching Roosevelt the power of leveraging personal charm and a strong public presence.[34] The power of this can be seen in Figure 3, a photograph that depicts Roosevelt with a mountain of letters on his desk. This parallels modern YouTubers’ unboxing fan mail videos.[35] Like YouTubers today, sitting in front of a camera surrounded by fan mail, more than they could ever realistically read, Roosevelt was in the same situation a little less than a hundred years ago. Roosevelt’s overwhelming fan mail was a clear sign that his connection with the public went far beyond politics, creating a new type of political figure whose reach and influence rivaled that of modern-day celebrities.

Roosevelt’s influence knew no borders. His communication had a far reaching impact, with listeners all over the globe tuned in. One notable example is a fourteen year old kid from Cuba, named Fidel Castro, who wrote to Roosevelt addressing him as “my good friend Roosevelt.”[36] This personal address demonstrated how Roosevelt’s use of the radio not only connected him with Americans, but also extended his reach to international audiences. His unique ability to make Americans and foreign citizens alike feel personally connected to him made him a “celebrity” in the modern sense of the word. This shift from national leader to global icon marked a new era in political communication, blurring the line between celebrity and politician. The timing was crucial given the context of the Great Depression. During a global crisis, Roosevelt was able to extend his influence and status further than the national borders, establishing him as not merely the leader of the United States of America, but as a figure of widespread fame.

Beyond the spotlight, Roosevelt’s charismatic personality was a calculated approach to public opinion that transformed him into more than just a political leader. Roosevelt became a symbol of trust and stability. The fireside chats provided Roosevelt a unique opportunity to be a politician with a celebrity like relationship. Taking full advantage of the opportunity, Roosevelt carefully scripted his public persona. Steele says in his article “The Pulse of the People,” that this is because Roosevelt “never thought that good government spoke for itself” and actively sought to shape public sentiment, recognizing that public attitudes could significantly impact his administration’s success.[37] Lewis points to how Roosevelt harnessed radio to build his image in a time of crisis, arguing that “Roosevelt used radio to unite a fearful nation and to expand his popular appeal.”[38] Many assume Roosevelt’s high popularity came from “the product of some special intuitive sense,” but Steele argues it was in fact “deliberately constructed and carefully maintained.”[39] By closely monitoring the press and engaging with citizens’ concerns, Roosevelt not only showcased his confidence and responsiveness but also fostered a sense of connection and trust among the public. This proactive engagement helped cultivate a loyal following and reinforced the idea that effective leadership involves understanding and addressing the needs of the American people.[40] Roosevelt’s careful management of public sentiment was not only about maintaining trust— it had also been about restoring and building confidence, particularly during times of uncertainty. During Roosevelt’s second fireside chat, he said it himself: “I made clear to the country various facts that might otherwise have been misunderstood and in general provided a means of understanding which did much to restore confidence.”[41] Therefore, Roosevelt’s celebrity-like status played a crucial role in shaping the nation’s perception of him as a trustworthy and dependable leader during times of crisis.

Long before social media, Roosevelt started the idea of a political celebrity through the power of the radio, using his voice to shape not just public opinion but an entirely new kind of public figure. Roosevelt’s public persona extended far beyond his position in office, with his influence shaping not only political landscapes but also the cultural and social fabric of the nation. This status stemmed from his remarkable ability to connect with the public in a way that felt deeply personal. Roosevelt’s strategic fireside chats fostered a sense of leadership that elevated him to a person of unprecedented recognition and influence. The 1920s movie stars were recognizable and of course everyone knew who Babe Ruth was, but none of them had influence over the country like President Roosevelt did.

Taking Note From Roosevelt

            Roosevelt’s fireside chats had a lasting impact that extended far beyond his presidency. The fireside chats influenced future presidents to follow in Roosevelt’s footsteps, by embracing the technology of the time. After Roosevelt died in office on April 12th 1945, his vice president Harry Truman, succeeded him. He continued Roosevelt’s use of the radio, even announcing Japan’s surrender in WWII over the radio.[42] By continuing Roosevelt’s use of the radio, Truman ensured that the nation remained connected during a time of great change and uncertainty, honoring Roosevelt’s legacy and demonstrating the lasting influence of the fireside chats. Over time the development of technology’s effect on the presidency has only deepened. As technology continues to evolve, its influence on presidential communication only grows, shaping how future leaders will connect with the public and furthering Roosevelt’s impact.

            Technological advancements are like fads, they leave just as fast as they enter. Only seven years later and the radio was old news. The television, growing in popularity, quickly became the new staple in every home. In 1952, the Eisenhower campaign became the first to have televised ads. This happened through his series “Eisenhower Answers America,” where just like Roosevelt, Eisenhower directly addressed America. The timing of this was essential given that Lewis says “by 1953, when there were more than 17 million television sets in the United States.”[43] The television proved to be especially useful for addressing controversy, as it allowed candidates to directly engage with the public in a personal and immediate way. A notable example of this is when Eisenhower’s VP, Richard Nixon gave a televised speech famously titled, “Checkers.” Political historian, John Malsberger, notes this speech as having “produced an outpouring of popular support for Nixon and erased doubts about his candidacy.”[44] The televised speech was able to humanize the nominees and clear the air regarding financial concerns the nation had. Roosevelt did the same regularly, in one particular fireside chat, Roosevelt had to clear the air about his Recovery Program. During this broadcast he explained his actions and gave “a word of encouragement,” to help address some of the issues people were having.[45] Roosevelt and Eisenhower understood the power of direct communication through emerging technologies, using radio and television to not only address controversy but also build trust and connect with the American people during times of uncertainty.

            John F. Kennedy took advantage of the television like never seen before. Kennedy’s remarkable charisma and public appeal was a defining feature of his presidency, making it possible for him to connect with Americans in a way that few other leaders had before. Kennedy, like Roosevelt, understood the ability of technological advancements to create a personal connection with the public. Whereas Roosevelt established the use of radio to reach the masses, Kennedy capitalized on the growing influence of television to do the same, using it not just to inform, but to inspire. Kennedy’s personal narrative— his youthful energy, his family legacy, and his polished public persona— played a key role in this media strategy. Holzer notes that Kennedy “brought not only movie star looks to the political table but also a substantial if slightly padded résumé. Like TR [Theodore Roosevelt] a genuine war hero and published writer, he was also, like FDR, the scion of multigenerational political royalty and, like both Roosevelts, a graduate of prestigious Harvard.”[46] This carefully crafted image of Kennedy as both a man of action and intellect helped reinforce the connection he fostered through the media. This point about Kennedy can be directly related to Roosevelt’s aim with his fireside chats. As previously stated, Roosevelt “never thought that good government spoke for itself” and actively sought to shape public sentiment.[47] Beyond his televised speeches, Kennedy’s ability to engage directly with the media was evident from his first day in office. During his inaugural press conference, the young president responded to thirty-seven separate press questions, surpassing Roosevelt’s record and demonstrating his command over complex issues. As Holzer further observes, this moment “placed his grasp of complex matters on full display.”[48] By utilizing television and press interactions in such a direct and accessible way, Kennedy continued the legacy set by Roosevelt, demonstrating how future presidents would adapt to changing media landscapes to connect with the American people.

Both Roosevelt and Kennedy effectively bypassed traditional print media to connect directly with the American public— Roosevelt through radio broadcasts and Kennedy through the television. As Holzer notes, “if FDR possessed the perfect voice for radio, JFK boasted the perfect appearance for TV.” Roosevelt’s strong oratory skills and commanding voice made his radio broadcasts particularly effective. On the other hand, Kennedy’s “irresistible” appearance and charismatic stage presence made him a natural fit for the visual medium of television, where his image played a crucial role in engaging viewers.[49] While Roosevelt’s radio broadcasts relied on the power of voice and verbal persuasion, Kennedy’s television appearances capitalized on the visual appeal and personal connection that the medium offered. Following Roosevelt’s example, Kennedy recognized the power of using a new medium to engage with the American people and continue the tradition of presidents speaking directly to their citizens. Kennedy did this by playing on his natural charisma and good looks.

            The significance of  Kennedy cannot be understood without discussing the first ever televised debate. During this 1960 debate, Democratic nominee Senator Kennedy wiped Republican nominee Vice President Nixon out of the park. This is not something historians or the everyday American would disagree with. Anyone can watch the recording to see Kennedy’s strong stage presence and ability to answer the questions at hand. Nixon on the other hand appeared weak with a very evident cold. His suit was too big, he had sweat dripping down his face, and he looked like death. Many attribute Nixon’s failed televised debate to his loss to Kennedy. Historian Mark White says it is important to note that “Americans who watched it on television thought Kennedy had triumphed,” but those who only listened in on the radio saw the debate as “evenly matched.”[50] People who were able to physically see Kennedy’s golden tan and charisma, were confident in his win. While those who only heard the debate saw the two as equal because there was no visual support giving Kennedy a leg up. The visual impact of the television gave Kennedy an edge. The debates themselves were a series of discussions that stretched over several weeks, each providing both candidates with the chance to present their views. Going into the election, Nixon had significant advantages. As Vice President, he brought extensive experience in foreign affairs and was older than Kennedy, which contributed to his greater experience in office. However, despite these strengths, the youngest person ever to run for president and the first Catholic to do so, Kennedy, ultimately won. Just as Roosevelt’s fireside chats helped solidify his image as a strong leader, Kennedy’s confident appearance during the debate contributed to his image as the more capable candidate. Nixon, despite his experience, struggled with the medium. In both cases, the media became a pivotal force in influencing public opinion and helped determine the outcome of the election.

            Failing to use technology as efficiently as Roosevelt is part of the double edged sword. Nixon won supporters back during his “Checkers” speech, but he was not able to do that following the Watergate scandal. The media’s constant coverage of this stain on Nixon’s record kept the scandal in the public eye and only amplified public skepticism. This made it nearly impossible for Nixon to regain America’s confidence. Unlike his earlier political battles, Nixon could not craft a favorable narrative or regain control of the message. Nixon’s struggles to harness the power of emerging media differed from Roosevelt’s skillful use of radio which helped maintain his public image. Ultimately, Roosevelt’s strategy set a precedent that Nixon was unable to follow.

            Around twenty years later, Ronald Reagan, also known as “The Great Communicator,” won the presidency. Holzer says Reagan “found himself in precisely the right place at exactly the right time to ride the crest of a media revolution,” much like Roosevelt had done during his time in office.[51] Comparably to Roosevelt, Reagan regularly addressed the American people. He did this through “broadcasting weekly Saturday-morning addresses,” to the nation.[52] Reagan’s weekly talks quickly became a fixture in the lives of many Americans, much like Roosevelt’s fireside chats had. Just as families once gathered around the radio to listen to Roosevelt, Americans tuned in to hear Reagan speak in a direct, relatable way. Reagan’s ability to connect with the public caused him to be given the nickname, “The Great Communicator.” This came from his ability to speak casually, friendly, and clearly to the country. Similar to Roosevelt’s fireside chats which resonated with Americans for the same reason. Additionally, Reagan’s Hollywood acting background allowed him to utilize the media in a way not previously done. Reagan was able to swoop in from Jimmy Carter’s negative media portrayal and win the 1980 election. Carter was a Washington outsider— a peanut farmer from Georgia— up against a man who had experience in front of cameras. Reagan’s effective use of media and his ability to connect with the public reflected the lasting influence of Roosevelt’s legacy.

            Even though the internet was emerging during George H.W. Bush’s time in office, with the birth of the World Wide Web and the introduction of email to the White House, he did not fully embrace the potential of the internet. Bush had a bad relationship with the media in multiple forms, including both the internet and the traditional press. Holzer believes that the press was always looking to “embarrass” Bush. This contrasts sharply with Roosevelt, whose effective use of new technology fostered a direct and positive connection with the American people. This left Bush’s suppressor, Bill Clinton, with the opportunity to sweep in “as an appealing Southern Governor,” with an actually good relationship with the media.[53] It was under the Clinton administration that the White House got its own official website, even though it could have been made much earlier during the Bush administration. Having a website meant that news was more accessible due to its far reach, much like Roosevelt’s fireside chats, which connected with a broad audience. When looking at Figure 4, a screenshot from the original White House website, it is clear that the layout was simple and easy to navigate.[54] This allowed the everyday American to see what was going on in the nation, just as Roosevelt’s broadcasts provided clear, direct information to the public. Clinton’s embrace of the internet and his strong rapport with the media allowed him to successfully engage the American public in ways Bush could not, solidifying his place as his successor. Clinton was able to do this because he, much like Roosevelt, recognized the power of the media.

            The power of television is undeniable, just look at the fact that the American people saw George W. Bush’s initial reaction to 9/11 because a camera happened to be on him when he was informed. The footage was released after the fact, but it still goes to show the power of technology. In the last two decades a new technology has taken over the presidency: social media, the current trend in a long line to come. Social media has redefined the way politicians interact with the public, shifting away from the one-way communication style of television and radio. Instead of simply broadcasting messages, social media allows for two-way conversations between politicians and voters. This shift has made politicians more accessible and relatable, as they can now directly respond to questions, share personal moments, and engage in real-time discussions with the public. Modern presidential campaigns depend on it. Holzer credits President Obama’s team as the first in history to use Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube to teach his policies. By using social media, Obama “expanded and personalized his messaging by using the most modern available technologies to reach the widest possible audiences.”[55] This mirrors Roosevelt’s fireside chats which expanded and personalized information access. While Roosevelt’s chats were one-way communications, Obama’s use of social media allowed for two-way conversations, making his messaging even more personalized and interactive. The reach Obama’s Twitter had was unmatched, Holzer says that by the end of Obama’s presidency he “attracted more than 104 million followers— more than anyone in the country at the time, even runner-up singing sensation Katy Perry.”[56] Roosevelt’s fireside chats laid the groundwork for future presidents to connect more directly with the public, and Obama’s use of social media built upon that legacy, and took it one step further by transforming presidential communication into a more interactive and personalized experience.

Similarly, there is another president who took advantage of the changing media landscape and used social media to connect with the American people. That president would be Donald Trump. Trump made communicating with the American people even more direct and even more personal by using his Twitter account as his own personal diary instead of a professional platform. This completely bypasses traditional media narratives. It is important to note that this was the case even prior to his presidency. Before Holzer evaluates Trump’s use of technology, he draws attention to the fact that “Donald Trump commenced deploying Twitter to promote his television series, flaunt his hotels and residential properties, and, most of all, tout himself. It was the perfect merger of technology and personality, medium and messenger.”[57] The Twitter addiction did not falter after Trump’s inauguration. Throughout his campaign, presidency, and impeachment, Trump never stopped tweeting. In a May 2020 The Collegian opinion piece, it was noted that although “Twitter is his preferred form of communication with the country,” Trump frequently claims social media is censoring conservatives.[58] This newspaper reinforces the idea that the American people saw how Trump preferred social media over traditional news outlets. Much like Roosevelt’s use of the radio evading traditional media, Trump did the same, with the added complexity of personal narrative and controversy, reflecting how technology has continued to shape presidential communication.

In today’s media landscape, the power of direct communication has reached such a point that public figures like Trump can choose to bypass traditional media events altogether, such as refusing to attend the White House Correspondents’ Association gala or even a presidential debate. After one bad roast, Trump decided “he would never attend a White House Correspondents’ Association gala again.” He had the power and confidence to refuse an important public relations event because he could speak to the American people whenever he wanted through Twitter. Holzer says Trump had this ability because “by then, his Twitter feed was attracting far more viewers than the correspondents’ affair anyway.”[59] Trump did not need to do any press that gave him even the slightest bit of trouble, he has direct communication at any time he pleases. This shift in power dynamics is evident not only in his refusal to attend traditional events but also in his ability to opt out of presidential debates. Presidential debates were traditionally viewed as essential for candidates to directly engage with the public, it was the candidates time to tell the American people why their policies would help them. Roosevelt did this through his fireside chats, just as Trump did this through his Twitter. Now this country is at a point where candidates have the confidence to rely on their own platform. Trump’s ability to threaten or refuse participation marks a dramatic shift in how political communication is approached. Trump had a platform that allowed him to control the narrative without ever needing to face traditional media or public scrutiny, making debates and other traditional PR events seem optional, rather than necessary. Roosevelt’s legacy was built upon and furthered by Trump’s use of Twitter, transforming presidential communication in ways Roosevelt never could have imagined.

Turning off the radio

The fireside chats were more than a communication tool. They were a guidebook for future presidents on how to use emerging technology to relate, inform, and inspire the American people. Roosevelt made politics feel intimate, as both a friend and a celebrity figure. Roosevelt’s fireside chats set a precedent for future presidents to engage with citizens on a personal level, bypassing traditional media filters. Since then, presidents have adopted this communication style, which combines current technology, attachment, and accessibility. Each generation of leaders have had to repeat Roosevelt’s history of adapting to the constantly evolving media landscapes to effectively engage with the American people. New technologies will continue to alter the ways presidents communicate, but one thing will remain constant: the need to embrace effective and current communication. Future presidents must draw lessons from the past as technology develops further, striking a balance between the influence of new media and respectable leadership. In an era when political figures communicate through tweets, Roosevelt’s intimate fireside chats remind us of the profound power of personal connection in politics. Roosevelt transformed a nation through the simple act of speaking directly to his people.


References

Primary sources

Barnes, Jack. “Social Media Companies Ban ‘Dangerous’ Accounts Ahead of 2020 Election After Criticism.” The Collegian Vol. 116, No. 19 (May 2020): 2.       

Castro, Fidel. “Letter to Roosevelt.” Cuba, November 1940.

 “Family Listening to Radio.” National Archives. 1938.

Graham, F. B. “Letter to Roosevelt.” Iowa, n.d.

 “President Franklin D. Roosevelt reads congratulatory telegrams on Nov. 4, 1936, after re-election victory over Alfred Landon.” New York Daily News Archive. November, 1936.

Roosevelt, Franklin Delano. “Fireside Chat on the Banking Crisis.” Radio Broadcast. March, 1933.

Roosevelt, Franklin Delano. “Fireside Chat (Recovery Program).” Radio Broadcast. July, 1933.

Roosevelt, Franklin Delano. “Fireside Chat.” Radio Broadcast. December, 1940.

Roosevelt, Franklin Delano. “Second Fireside Chat.” Radio Broadcast. May 1933.

“The Fireside Chats: Roosevelt’s Radio Talks – Photo 3.” Library of Congress. 1940.

 “The first White House website homepage.” National Archives and Records Administration. 1994.

Secondary sources

Holzer, Harold. President v.s. the Press. New York: Dutton, 2020.

Kluskens, Claire. ““Census Fun Fact #3 – Do You Own a Radio Set?” History Hub (October 2020).

Lenthal, Bruce. Radio’s America: The Great Depression and the Rise of Modern Mass Culture. Illinois: University of Chicago Press, 2007.

Leuchtenburg, William Edward. The FDR Years: On Roosevelt and His Legacy. New York: Columbia University Press, 1997.

Lewis, Tom. “‘A Godlike Presence’: The Impact of Radio on the 1920s and 1930s.” OAH Magazine of History Vol 6, No. 4 (1992): 26–33.

Malsberger, John W. “Dwight Eisenhower, Richard Nixon, and the Fund Crisis of 1952.” The Historian Vol 23, No. 3 (2011): 526-547.

Smith, Sam. “Letters to Franklin Delano Roosevelt” APM Reports (November 2014).

Steele, Richard W. “The Great Debate: Roosevelt, the Media, and the Coming of the War, 1940–1941” Journal of American History Vol 71, No. 1 (June 1984): 69–92.

Steele, Richard W. “The Pulse of the People. Franklin D. Roosevelt and the Gauging of American Public Opinion” Journal of Contemporary History Vol. 9, No. 4 (October 1974) 195-216.

Sterling, Christopher H. ““The Fireside Chats”—President Franklin D. Roosevelt (1933-1944)” National Registry (2002).

Storm, Geoffrey. “FDR and WGY: The Origins of the Fireside Chats.” New York History Vol 88, No 2 (2007): 176–97.         

White, Mark. “Apparent Perfection: The Image of John F. Kennedy” History Vol 98, No. 2 (April 2013): 226-246.

[1] Christopher H. Sterling, ““The Fireside Chats”—President Franklin D.  Roosevelt (1933-1944)” National Registry (2002): 2.

[2] Claire Kluskens, “Census Fun Fact #3 – Do You Own a Radio Set?” History Hub (October 2020).

[3] Bruce Lenthall, Radio’s America: The Great Depression and the Rise of Modern Mass Culture (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007), 56.

[4] Sterling, 2.

[5]  Geoffrey Storm, “FDR and WGY: The Origins of the Fireside Chats.” New York History, Vol 88 Number 2 (2007): 176–97.

[6] Storm, 178.

[7] Lenthal; Harold Holzer, President v.s. the Press (New York: Dutton, 2020).; Storm.

[8] William Edward Leuchtenburg, The FDR Years: On Roosevelt and His Legacy (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997).; Richard W. Steele, “The Great Debate: Roosevelt, the Media, and the Coming of the War, 1940–1941” Journal of American History, Vol 71 Issue 1, (June 1984) 69–92.; Richard W. Steele, “The Pulse of the People. Franklin D. Roosevelt and the Gauging of American Public Opinion” Journal of Contemporary History, Vol. 9 Number 4 (October 1974) 195-216.; Tom Lewis, “‘A Godlike Presence’: The Impact of Radio on the 1920s and 1930s.” OAH Magazine of History, Vol 6 Number 4 (1992): 26–33.

[9] Lenthal, 83.

[10] Leuchtenburg, 14.

[11] Telephone: a children’s game where players form a circle, and the first person whispers a message to the next. Each person passes on what they heard, but by the time the message reaches the last person, it’s often distorted.

[12] Lenthal, 7.

[13] Steele, “The Great Debate,” 72.

[14] Lenthal, 58-59.

[15] Lenthal, 77.

[16] See Figure 1.

[17] Leuchtenburg, 14.

[18] See Figure 2.

[19] Storm, 179.

[20] Leuchtenburg, 14.

[21] Lewis, 31.

[22] Franklin Delano Roosevelt, “Fireside Chat on the Banking Crisis.” Radio Broadcast (March 1933).

[23]  Franklin Delano Roosevelt, “Fireside Chat.” Radio Broadcast (December 1940).

[24] Leuchtenburg, 14.

[25] F. B. Graham, “Letter to Roosevelt.” (Iowa, n.d.). “— so that all of us unfamiliar with the technicalities might understand.”

[26] Graham.

[27] Leuchtenburg, 15.

[28] Roosevelt, “Fireside Chat on the Banking Crisis.”

[29] Lewis, 29.

[30] Steele, “The Pulse of the People,” 198.

[31] Lenthal, 56.

[32] Storm, 31.

[33]  Stephen Smith, “Letters to Franklin Delano Roosevelt,” APM Reports (November 2014).

[34] Holzer, 93-94.

[35] See Figure 3.

[36] Fidel Castro, “Letter to Roosevelt.” (Cuba, November 1940).

[37]  Steele, “The Pulse of the People,” 195.

[38] Lewis, 30.

[39] Steele, “The Pulse of the People,” 195.

[40] Lewis, 31.

[41]Franklin Delano Roosevelt, “Second Fireside Chat.” Radio Broadcast (May 1993).

[42]  Steele, “The Great Debate,” 70.

[43] Lewis, 32.

[44] John W. Malsbergerm, “Dwight Eisenhower, Richard Nixon, and the Fund Crisis of 1952.” The Historian, Vol 23 No. 3 (2011): 526-547.

[45] Franklin Delano Roosevelt, “Fireside Chat (Recovery Program).” Radio Broadcast (July 1993).

[46] Holzer, 195.

[47] Steele, “The Pulse of the People.” 195. Quote previously referenced in the prior section.

[48] Holzer, 202.

[49] Holzer, 198.

[50] Mark White, “Apparent Perfection: The Image of John F. Kennedy” History, Vol 98 No. 2 (April 2013): 226-246.

[51] Holzer, 306.

[52] Holzer, 310.

[53] Holzer, 327-328.

[54] See Figure 4.

[55] Holzer, 377.

[56] Holzer, 379.

[57] Holzer, 409. Flog: promote or talk about something repetitively or at excessive length.

[58] Jack Barnes, “Social Media Companies Ban ‘Dangerous’ Accounts Ahead of 2020 Election After Criticism,” The Collegian, Vol 116 No. 19 (May 2020): 2.

[59] Holzer, 409.

Local History: The Great Depression in New York City

Local History: The Great Depression in New York City

Reprinted from New York Almanack based on an article from the Blackwell’s Almanac, a publication of the Roosevelt Island Historical Society. https://www.newyorkalmanack.com/2023/09/great-depression-in-new-york-city/

As the 1920s advanced, the economy soared. But with that dramatic expansion came irrational exuberance and unchecked speculation: stock prices reached levels that had no basis in reality; margin purchases were rampant; banks handed out loans lavishly and imprudently; and giddy product production resulted in a vast oversupply of goods. On Tuesday, October 29, 1929, it all came crashing down. This is the story of the Great Depression in New York City.

After an erratic week in which stocks, including blue chip stocks, mostly declined, waves of panicked investors sold off their shares, driving the market ever downward. On that one day, now known as Black Tuesday, the market lost $14 billion in value; over the ensuing week, it erased another $30 billion — eventually suffering the staggering loss of 89.2% over its peak in early September.

Bank failures and business bankruptcies followed, presaging a decade of unprecedented economic hardship. New York City came to be viewed as “the symbolic capital of the Depression, the financial capital where it had started, and the place where its effects were most keenly felt.” Many residents lost their savings, their jobs and their homes. By 1932, half the city’s factories were closed, almost one-third of New Yorkers were unemployed (vs. one-quarter of the rest of the country and over one-half in Harlem), and some 1.6 million residents were on relief. Those who remained employed and therefore ineligible for the dole were often forced to take severe pay cuts.

At the time of the crash, under Mayor Jimmy Walker, there were few centralized municipal services that could be tapped for jobs or rescue: there were no central traffic, highway or public works department; street-cleaning was a function of individual boroughs; there were five separate parks departments; unemployment insurance was non-existent and, in the beginning, the Department of Public Welfare had no funds available. New York City, like most cities, was dependent on charitable institutions and alms houses to succor the poor, the homeless and the hungry. Yet these organizations publicly admitted their inability to meet the heavy demands being made of them.

In March 1930, 35,000 out-of-work protesters marched toward City Hall as part of International Unemployment Day organized by the Communist Party. They were met with violent attack by the New York Police Department. Several years later, it was the Black and Latino population’s turn. In addition to being jobless, they had to deal with blatant discrimination, including exclusion from more than 24 of the city’s trade unions and rejection at public work sites. With tempers boiling, a furious Harlem mob vandalized white-owned stores. Some 4,000 individuals took part, inflicting over $2 million in damages, resulting in 30 hospitalizations and several deaths. While an investigation into discriminatory practices was launched, little came of it and the situation continued unchanged.

Riots in New York flared and petered out. What didn’t peter out was the sheer fight to survive – for the hungry, the need to eat, and for the homeless, the need to find shelter. Breadlines and soup kitchens were one aspect of the fight. People lined up daily in long, snaking queues outside bakeries or pantries to score a ration of day-old bread or thin soup. To hide their humiliation from neighbors, many would leave their homes dressed up as if they were going to work. Once on the line, they just stared straight ahead, refusing to interact with their downtrodden peers — in fact, refusing to admit to themselves where they were.

Thousands evicted from their homes took to living in shacks in parks or backstreets. As more and more homeless joined these camps, they grew into little shantytowns nicknamed “Hoovervilles” in condemnation of the inactivity of President Herbert Hoover to remedy the situation. The largest such settlement was located next to the Reservoir in Central Park. Ironically, many of the Hooverville men were construction tradesmen — bricklayers, stone masons, carpenters — who had helped build the luxury buildings surrounding the park and who now set to building their own shanties out of scavenged materials. Despite the skill and artistry with which these abodes were constructed, they were illegal; so both local and federal authorities regularly raided the settlements, destroying the shelters and scattering their inhabitants.

Conditions were dire and pleading letters from city officials and residents alike piled up in the Mayor’s office. Finally, in October 1930, Jimmy Walker created the Mayor’s Official Committee for Relief of the Unemployed and Needy, and things started to happen. By November there was:

  • a City Employment Bureau, which obviated the problem of job-seekers having to pay private employment firms;
  • a stop to the eviction of poor families for rent arrears;
  • a large-scale investigation by the police to determine needs in all 77 precincts;
  • a windfall of contributions to unemployment relief from police and other city employees;
  • an expansion of city lodging facilities; and
  • a special Cabinet Committee to deal with questions of food, clothing and rent.

In the first eight months of its existence, the Committee raised some $1.6 million. Direct relief funds were paid to 11,000 families, while 18,000 tons of food, including Kosher food, was given out to almost a million families. (Night patrolmen spent a good part of their shifts packing and wrapping these food parcels.) The money also paid for coal, shoes and clothing. Another city agency, the Welfare Council, disbursed over $12 million for relief and emergency work wages. These funds too came from voluntary donations. Private citizens contributed; sports teams organized exhibition matches (for example Notre Dame football vs. the New York Giants); and Broadway staged special benefit performances.

For a while spirits rose and hopes of normalcy returned. But by April 1931, it was clear that private welfare measures and one-off City actions could not keep up with the growing distress. Help was needed and it came from a now-familiar individual — Franklin Delano Roosevelt, not as president, but as Governor of New York State. Despairing of any constructive efforts by the Federal government, Roosevelt, unique among governors to accept liability for his constituents, declared: “upon the State falls the duty of protecting and sustaining those of its citizens who, through no fault of their own, find themselves… unable to maintain life.” By August 1931, foreshadowing elements of the future New Deal, a robust public works program was in effect to reduce unemployment. State income tax was increased by 50% and the Comptroller authorized the issuance of revenue bonds at both the state and local level. Some would say that New York City was in better shape than many other cities. Yet it was still on the critical list.

It wasn’t until 1932, when Walker resigned amid an investigation for graft and Herbert Hoover was voted out of office, that the way was paved for major innovations. Newly elected President FDR embodied the optimism of his catchy campaign song, “Happy Days Are Here Again.” Within a couple of years, he promulgated the historic, blockbuster New Deal, and working in close partnership with newly elected Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia, transformed both the country and the City. The “New Deal” New York — the most populous American city with almost seven million residents — was the single greatest beneficiary of the New Deal’s Works Project Administration (WPA) in the entire U.S.

Under the WPA, more than a dozen federal agencies paid for the labor and materials to support hundreds of projects designed to put New Yorkers back to work. The New Deal built housing, schools, courthouses, roads, hospitals and health clinics, libraries, post offices, bridges, and highways. It was the impetus and money behind the Triborough Bridge, LaGuardia Airport, the Lincoln Tunnel, and the East River (FDR) Drive. It also gave the city an extensive system of recreational facilities, including swimming pools, playgrounds, ball fields, hiking trails, and parks.

But construction wasn’t its only recipient. FDR, Eleanor Roosevelt and Harry Hopkins (head of the WPA) recognized that funding culture and practitioners of culture was just as important. (“Hell, they’ve got to eat just like other people,” Hopkins is reported to have said). So, jobless artists, designers, craftsmen and photographers were hired to embellish public spaces with murals and sculptures, while posters publicized other WPA programs, and illustrations, photos and crafts found their way into newly opened galleries and respected museums. Playwrights, writers, actors and singers were paid to create theatrical shows — even Yiddish and German theater. And out-of-work musicians and composers of all stripes (classical, folk, jazz, light opera) were employed to give concerts indoors and out. At the same time, New Deal legislation began strengthening workers’ rights by allowing them to organize, earn a minimum wage and, as discussed below, obtain unemployment compensation and sign up for Social Security.

When Frances Perkins, a fierce advocate of social justice and economic security, was tapped as Secretary of Labor, she brought a list of proposals for FDR’s approval. Among them were unemployment insurance and what she called “old age” insurance. Both of them knew that the development of such programs would encounter many obstacles, not the least of which would be challenges to their constitutionality.

Be that as it may, in 1935, the enabling legislation passed overwhelmingly and FDR authorized the establishment of unemployment insurance and Social Security. And in 1937, the Supreme Court affirmed the constitutionality of levying taxes to fund both programs. IBM won the bid to create the largest and most complicated data processing system ever built. It even designed novel equipment for the unprecedented task of enrolling some 30 million employers and workers, and registering their contributions into the Social Security system for later retirement payouts. According to Perkins, “Nothing [other than the Great Depression] would have bumped the American people into a social security system except something so shocking, so terrifying, as that depression.”

Above and beyond the homeless, 30% of the City’s housed population lived in deteriorating, squalid tenements. There were other slums deemed “unfit for human habitation.” The National Recovery Act of 1933 authorized the clearance of slums, repair of salvageable structures and construction of low cost housing. And the country’s very first “public housing” — a previously unheard of concept — was built in New York under the newly formed New York City Housing Authority (NYCHA). The first three public projects were: First Houses, between First Avenue and Avenue A, from Second to Third Streets in the East Village; Williamsburg Houses, Scholes to Maujer Streets, Leonard Street to Bushwick Avenue, Williamsburg, Brooklyn, Harlem River Houses, Seventh Avenue to Macombs Place, Harlem River Drive, and 151st to 153rd Streets in Harlem. Their public ownership represented a radical step that both created jobs and sheltered people in up-to-date homes. By 1941, nine such projects had been developed in New York City, providing 11,570 units. They are all still with us and the first three have been designated New York City landmarks.

The sheer range of educational programs implemented by the New Deal was remarkable. From kindergarten to college (for example, Hunter College, Brooklyn College, the Merchant Marine Academy in the Bronx), new buildings expanded the student population. Thousands of teachers were hired, and adjunctive programs such as preschool, work-study programs for young people, and vocational classes for adults were instituted. Community education classes were held in libraries, settlement houses, local facilities, trade union halls, park buildings, and even on the radio. There was no end to what a willing individual could learn, including driving, English, home arts, visual arts and new vocational skills. Much of the funds secured for New York City can be directly attributed to LaGuardia’s force of personality. According to Roosevelt, he would show up in Washington “and tell me a sad story. The tears run down my cheeks and tears run down his cheeks and the first thing I know he has wrangled another $50,000,000.”

For many City residents, lack of work had devolved into declining health, malnutrition, and increasing rates of infant mortality. New Deal funding produced new hospitals and neighborhood health clinics. The latter were often located in or near public housing developments and provided free medical and dental care, including immunizations, for all ages. The clinic doctors and nurses also visited homes and schools, and gave classes in healthy living. The clinics even sent housekeepers to help out where parents were ill. Access to regular health care was a first for many New Yorkers and its effects were incontestable: decreased infant mortality, a drop in serious illness and a decline in the suicides that so darkened the Depression years. It took entry into the Second World War to completely obliterate the Great Depression. Tens of thousands of men went off to battle, while the rest of the country was galvanized into full employment by the war effort. Still, the New Deal, with its plethora of alphabet soup subsidiaries, was nothing short of miraculous. It carried the country and New York City through one of the most challenging eras in our history. It transformed the relationship of government to its citizens — embodying a dynamism that has strengthened New York through the years and continues to empower it to this day

The Radium Girls: The Dark Story of America’s Shining Women by Kate Moore

Review by Georgiena Bobbie Robinson

Context matters. I mean that in terms of the context in which I read. Sometimes, I put a book aside as not relevant, not interesting, or just not the right book at the right time. Currently, my context is the COVID-19 pandemic and my safer-at-home lockdown. For escape, I’ve turned to books, but perhaps oddly, to non-fiction. The more dire the situation, the more tragic the true story, the better I feel. In troubled times, I find solace. In tales of disaster, I discover courage and resilience, pain and
perseverance, hope and victory. Everywhere these books take me, I find context for understanding what we face today and lessons for living through catastrophe. In the early spring of the pandemic, Erik Larson’s The Splendid and the Vile (2020) and
Black Death at the Golden Gate (2019) by David K. Randall were gripping page-turners.

So is The Radium Girls: The Dark Story of America’s Shining Women (2016) by Kate Moore. Moore took me to the radium-dial factories of Newark and Orange, New Jersey and then to Illinois through a story I had never heard before. During World War I, young women from working-class families found good-paying jobs painting watches and other instruments that glowed in the dark for the military. After the war, the desire for these watches exploded, factories expanded production, and the women recruited their younger sisters and friends to join them at companies such as Radium Luminous Materials Corporation, United States Radium Corporation, and Radium Dial Corporation.

The Radium Girls, as they were called, were excited to be front and center at the radium craze. Discovered in 1898 by Marie and Pierre Curie, radium was rare and one of the most valuable commodities in the world. Two decades later, radium was considered a wonder drug, a cure-all for just about everything. Consumers drank radium potions and swallowed radium pills; the wealthy went to radium clinics and spas. Products from jock straps to mosquito sprays claimed, often falsely, to contain radium. The radium dial factories engaged the girls in an important war effort, painting luminous airplane instruments, gunsights, and ship’s compasses. This was a job for women – some as young as 14 – with excellent fine motor skills. Many earned more than their laborer fathers and brothers. The radium girls enjoyed the female
camaraderie of the factory floor; they bought nice clothes and danced the nights away with eligible young men; they were happy; they glowed.

Quite literally, the women glowed. As they painted, they mastered the technique of dipping the fine camel-haired brushes into the radium paint, then their mouths to wet the brush into an even finer point. Paid by the piece, their goal was to paint the
small dials as precisely and quickly as possible. With every dip, the girls swallowed the radioactive substance. Despite their care not to waste paint, the fine dust covered their hands, their hair and their clothes. When they walked home together at night,
hung their glowing dresses in their closets, and stood in front of a mirror, the girls “fairly shone in the dark,” like “otherworldly angels.”

By 1921, the first of the Radium Girls was sick. Teeth fell out, jaws crumbled, bone cancers grew, women failed to conceive or miscarried. Through the 1920s and 30s, many died painful deaths, some quickly, some slowly. Initially, the girls, their dentists and their doctors made no connection to their work. When the first finally did,
linking their own illnesses with those of friends and co-workers, the companies denied that the paint could be the cause. Radium, after all, was harmless, they testified.

The Radium Girls is the story of the courageous women and a handful of doctors and
lawyers who take on powerful corporations and a legal system determined to thwart them at every turn, calculating that they can outlive the dying women. Company officials lie and cover-up; mayors and chambers of commerce welcome jobs during the Great Depression; neighbors turn on the women and their families; victims of radium poisoning die. The not-yet-dead fight on. Though few of the Radium Girls themselves would benefit, eventually laws were written, saving other lives.

Kate Moore uncovers the lives of these women and makes their heartbreaking story
personal. She shows us that the fight for workers’ rights and lives never ends, but that change is possible. The Radium Girls belong with The Jungle’s meatpackers and the Triangle Shirtwaist women in our history lessons. In our Covid-19 pandemic times, the fight for workers’ lives continues; the Radium Girls light the way.

Radium Girls at work in an Orange, NJ factory.
Ad by United States Radium Corp.