J. Bradford DeLong's Blog, page 1131
October 24, 2014
Afternoon Must-Read: Gauti Eggertsson and Neil Mehrotra: Secular Stagnation and the Paradox of Worth
Gauti Eggertsson and Neil Mehrotra: Secular stagnation and the paradox of worth: "It is important to ensure that the asset...
...cannot operate as a perfect storage technology as this may put a zero bound on the real interest rate... a secular stagnation equilibrium remains a possibility as the natural rate can be negative while the discount rate relevant for risky assets remains positive. The real interest rate and the possibility of a secular stagnation can also be affected by the presence of bubble assets... [such] bubbles may be efficient, but depending on the stability of the bubble, interesting tradeoffs may emerge between the level and volatility of employment...
Izabella Kaminska: Cult Markets: When the bubble bursts: "We’re going to stick our neck out...
...at this stage and call this the end of Bitcoin... the positive-feedback loop forces which drove Bitcoin to $1124.76 have now become the same very same which will drive it down... the fact that the mechanism that ensures coins cannot be overproduced to benefit from high prices also prevents supply from being contracted when prices/demand collapses... in a race to the bottom it doesn’t pay to switch off your mining machine if you’re the most efficient miner. So how did we find ourselves on this delusional joy ride to begin with?... It’s the same old story of frivolity, irrational exuberance, hysteria and of course the mistaken belief that something like a free lunch is truly possible... the sort of irrationality and bad allocation of capital that the Fed is trying to shake-out at this stage with tightening talk. We’re sure we may still see a few deep pocketed VCs or ‘believers’ throw more money at defending the dream, but chances are we’ve now gone through the exponential break point. Time and money would probably be better spent trying to pump up Bitcoin V.2.
Noted for Your Afternoon Procrastination for October 24, 2014
Over at Equitable Growth--The Equitablog
On Jeff Madrick et al.: How Mainstream Economic Thinking Imperils America - Washington Center for Equitable Growth
Morning Must-Read: Jeff Weintraub: China's Man in Hong Kong Explains the Problem with Democracy-It's a Threat to Capitalism - Washington Center for Equitable Growth
Lunchtime Must-Read: Gavyn Davies: China’s Slowdown Is Secular, Not Cyclical - Washington Center for Equitable Growth
Morning Must-Read: Alan Zibel: Low Down Payments Are Coming Back - Washington Center for Equitable Growth
Morning Must-Read: Michela Giorcelli and Petra Moser: Copyright and Creativity: Evidence from Italian Operas - Washington Center for Equitable Growth
Lunchtime Must-Read: Larry MIshel: Income and Wealth Inequality Hurts Economic Mobility - Washington Center for Equitable Growth
Heather Boushey: Understanding economic inequality and growth at the middle of the income ladder - Washington Center for Equitable Growth:
Nick Bunker: A deeper understanding of secular stagnation? - Washington Center for Equitable Growth
Plus:
Noted for Your Lunchtime Procrastination for October 24, 2014 - Washington Center for Equitable Growth
Must- and Shall-Reads:
Matt O'Brien: The bottom 90 percent are poorer today than they were in 1987 - The Washington Post
Mark Thoma: Will the big banks ever clean up their act?
Richard Mayhew: Calling the consolidation efficiency bluff
Michela Giorcelli and Petra Moser: Copyright and Creativity: Evidence from Italian Operas
Alan Zibel: Low Down Payments Are Coming Back
Gavyn Davies: China’s Slowdown Is Secular, Not Cyclical
Jeff Weintraub: China's Man in Hong Kong Explains the Problem with Democracy--It's a Threat to Capitalism
Conference Board: How will the long fall in China's growth impact risks and opportunities for business?
Larry Mishel: Chair Yellen Is Right: Income and Wealth Inequality Hurts Economic Mobility
And Over Here:
Liveblogging World War II: October 24, 1944: Turkey Trots to Water... (Brad DeLong's Grasping Reality...)
"Neighbor, How Stands the Union?": Live from Lafayette Square (Brad DeLong's Grasping Reality...)
Liveblogging World War II: October 23, 1944: Battle of Leyte Gulf (Brad DeLong's Grasping Reality...)
Hoisted from the Archives from Four Years Ago: What is Happening with Bond Prices? (Brad DeLong's Grasping Reality...)
DISRUPTION: iPads for Cash Registers: Life from Crows Coffee (Brad DeLong's Grasping Reality...)
Dylan Byers "I’ve Had Enough Of You Water-Drinking, Air-Breathing Urban Elitists" Edition: Hoisted from the Internet from Two Years Ago (Brad DeLong's Grasping Reality...)
Must- and Shall-Reads:
Michela Giorcelli and Petra Moser: Copyright and Creativity: Evidence from Italian Operas: "This paper exploits variation in the adoption of copyright laws within Italy – as a result of Napoleon’s military campaign – to examine the effects of copyrights on creativity. To measure variation in the quantity and quality of creative output, we have collected detailed data on 2,598 operas that premiered across eight states within Italy between 1770 and 1900. These data indicate that the adoption of copyrights led to a significant increase in the number of new operas premiered per state and year. Moreover, we find that the number of high-quality operas also increased – measured both by their contemporary popularity and by the longevity of operas. By comparison, evidence for a significant effect of copyright extensions is substantially more limited. Data on composers’ places of birth indicate that the adoption of copyrights triggered a shift in patterns of composers’ migration, and helped attract a large number of new composers to states that offered copyrights..."
Alan Zibel: Low Down Payments Are Coming Back: "On Monday, Federal Housing Finance Agency Director Mel Watt announced that mortgage-finance companies Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac would start backing loans with down payments as low as 3%. And on Tuesday, three federal agencies approved a loosened set of mortgage-lending rules, removing a requirement for a 20% down payment for a class of high-quality loan known as a 'qualified residential mortgage'.... In addition, veterans can apply for 100% financing on loans insured by the Veterans Administration, and the U.S. Department of Agriculture has several loan programs.... Borrowers with low down payments do default in higher numbers than similar borrowers with higher down payments, said Mark Zandi.... However, Mr. Zandi still believes that low-down-payment lending can be done in a responsible way, by making sure borrowers have solid credit, have low ratios of debt compared with their income and are taking on standard loans..."
<Gavyn Davies: China’s Slowdown Is Secular, Not Cyclical: Is China bouncing back from a weak patch of growth, or is it headed for a prolonged slowdown lasting many years?... Both are probably true. Cyclical fluctuations are occurring around a clearly slowing long-term trend.... Until 2011, mainstream economic forecasters... believed that the trend growth rate in China would remain in the 9-10 per cent region for as far ahead as the eye could see. Now almost no one thinks that.... The Conference Board forecast this week that trend growth after 2020 would be only 4 per cent a year..."
Jeff Weintraub: China's Man in Hong Kong Explains the Problem with Democracy--It's a Threat to Capitalism: "The argument that democracy is dangerous because it means mob rule by the ignorant unwashed masses--or rule by unscrupulous and even tyrannical demagogues who can manipulate those masses--is a very old one.... [The] more specific version... that political democracy... threatens the basic requirements of a capitalist market economy, was made quite often throughout the 19th and into the early 20th century.... For better or worse, history seems to have demonstrated that such claims about the fundamental incompatibility... were exaggerated.... [The] inherent tensions... [are] a good thing.... Some pro-plutocratic and market-fundamentalist ideologues still share that 19th-century fear of the perils of democracy, and occasionally some billionaire will blurt this out in an unguarded interview. But in most western societies, people who hold these views can't state them... openly and straightforwardly... [but] euphemistically... with various circumlocutions. In some other parts of the world, however, those anti-democratic arguments can still be made publicly with refreshing honesty."
Conference Board: How will the long fall in China's growth impact risks and opportunities for business?: "Is the China slowdown over? Many analysts think China has had a ‘soft landing’ that will yield about 8 percent annual growth for the next decade. We disagree. Absent reforms that resolve China’s productivity and debt challenges, we expect a ‘soft fall’ to growth of about 4 percent by 2020, including negative growth for certain sectors and regions. While there is tremendous potential for reform, political economy challenges make bold action difficult. Our research provides guidance for companies looking to optimize investment and sustain growth."
Larry Mishel: Chair Yellen Is Right: Income and Wealth Inequality Hurts Economic Mobility | Economic Policy Institute: "Janet Yellen gave a speech this week... no mincing of words as to what has happened: ‘It is no secret that the past few decades of widening inequality can be summed up as significant income and wealth gains for those at the very top and stagnant living standards for the majority. I think it is appropriate to ask whether this trend is compatible with values rooted in our nation’s history, among them the high value Americans have traditionally placed on equality of opportunity.’ I appreciate both the straightforward description of the rise of both income and wealth inequality, and the explicit connection between these growing inequalities and the threat this poses to future generations’ upward mobility and opportunity.... Conservatives seem to only be concerned with facilitating opportunity or social mobility, and consider income inequality itself not a worthy focus.... Various reporters have noted the Obama administration backing away from making ’income inequality’ a key issue and shifting to a focus on opportunity or mobility. Is this tenable, deciding to focus on the upward mobility of today’s poor children without any focus on the incomes and wealth of their parents and the circumstances of their lives—where they live, in what housing, with what safety, and so on?"
Should Be Aware of:
Jude Isabella: The Intelligent Life of the City Raccoon
How to become an equity fund manager
: NOAA Climate: ENSO Blog
Denise Grady: Ebola Vaccine, Ready for Test, Sat on the Shelf
Pascal-Emmanuel Gobry: "Here's corporations' basic message to women: Just 'lean in.' And if leaning in leaves no time for marriage or kids, here's a free freezer for your eggs..."
Jay Rosen: Journalists need a point of view if they want to stay relevant
Charles A.E. Goodhart and Dirk Schoenmaker: The ECB as lender of last resort?: "As part of the move to a banking union, the largest banks in the Eurozone will soon be supervised by the ECB. This column argues that supervision and the lender of last resort function should be seen as a joint product. After the introduction of the euro, the national central banks continued to act as lenders of last resort because bank supervision remained at the national level. Now that supervision is moving to the ECB, so should the lender of last resort function for the larger, cross-border, banks."
Corey Robin: On David Brooks on Edmund Burke: "Burke is... often held up as the source of conservatism, [but] I get the feeling he’s not often read... quotations inevitably have a whiff of cliché about them—little platoons and so on—emitting that stale blast of familiarity you sense when you listen to someone go on about a text he may or may not have read during one week in college..."
Simon Wren-Lewis: Helicopter Money: "The original Friedman thought experiment involved the central bank distributing money by helicopter... by the central bank printing money, rather than the government issuing debt.... Helicopter money is... QE coupled with a tax cut. Another way of thinking about it: instead of using money to buy assets (QE alone), the central bank gives it away to people.... It could be that advocates of helicopter money really want higher inflation targets, but do not want to be explicit about this, just as they may not want to call helicopter money a fiscal stimulus. The problem with this is that central bankers do understand the macroeconomics.... As Willem Buiter says, 'there always exists a combined monetary and fiscal policy action that boosts private demand'."
Paul Krugman: Plutocrats Against Democracy: "The very success of the conservative agenda only intensifies this fear. Many on the right--and I’m not just talking about people listening to Rush Limbaugh; I’m talking about members of the political elite--live, at least part of the time, in an alternative universe in which America has spent the past few decades marching rapidly down the road to serfdom. Never mind the new Gilded Age that tax cuts and financial deregulation have created; they’re reading books with titles like [Nick Eberstadt's] A Nation of Takers: America’s Entitlement Epidemic, asserting that the big problem we have is runaway redistribution. This is a fantasy.... If you worry that low-income voters will run wild, that they’ll greedily grab everything and tax job creators into oblivion, history says that you’re wrong. All advanced nations have had substantial welfare states since the 1940s--welfare states that, inevitably, have stronger support among their poorer citizens. But you don’t, in fact, see countries descending into tax-and-spend death spirals--and no, that’s not what ails Europe.... The obvious answer is Mr. Leung’s: Don’t let the bottom half, or maybe even the bottom 90 percent, vote. And now you understand why there’s so much furor on the right over the alleged but actually almost nonexistent problem of voter fraud, and so much support for voter ID laws that make it hard for the poor and even the working class to cast ballots. American politicians don’t dare say outright that only the wealthy should have political rights--at least not yet. But if you follow the currents of thought now prevalent on the political right to their logical conclusion, that’s where you end up. The truth is that a lot of what’s going on in American politics is, at root, a fight between democracy and plutocracy. And it’s by no means clear which side will win."
Prairie Weather: The real villain of the Clinton impeachment: "The Republicans who set up a crooked Republican lawman to go after Clinton. Ken Starr crooked? A Freedom of Information Act search reveals that, yes, during the probe into Clinton's relationship with an intern, he used agents who bullied and 'mistreated' the key witness, Monica Lewinsky, threatening her and her family if she didn't provide them with grounds to remove the Democratic president. 'The report also lays out the encounter in detail, suggesting that it quickly spun out of control as a shocked and hysterical Lewinsky asked to consult a lawyer or a parent--even as prosecutors grew increasingly determined to persuade her to agree on the spot to cooperate against the president...' Keep this in mind: the actions taken were the result of Republican demands. The actions were political and illegal. The report on the matter was kept under wraps for years and only now has emerged as a result of a FOIA demand..."
André Christoffer Andersen: Interactive map: World population by latitude and longitude: "André Christoffer Andersen created this nifty interactive map that estimates world population at any coordinate. Andersen was inspired by Bill Rankin's data visualizations. According this this map, the most populous coordinate is in the Punjab region. Some of the data seems shifted a bit, so the spike for Mexico City is a little too far east, but it's a cool proof of concept!"
For the Weekend: The Drop...
Tom Hardy is amazing...
DISRUPTION: iPads for Cash Registers: Life from Crows Coffee
If you had asked me five years ago what iPads would be used for, I would not have said "cash registers"...
They tell me that it's $600 vs. $2000 upfront for an iPad vs. a conventional cash-register system, with similar transaction fees.
Liveblogging World War II: October 24, 1944: Turkey Trots to Water...
James D. Hornfischer: The Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors:
The seas rolled calmly, stirred by a gentle easterly wind, when the early risers of the morning watch rose for breakfast at three A.M. to relieve the midwatch at four. Aboard the destroyer Johnston, washrooms filled with boisterous morning energy, lockers slammed, and the galley came alive with the hissing of steam, the banter of cooks, the sizzle of eggs and bacon. Quartermaster striker Robert Billie went to the mess, poured himself a cup of coffee, and decided to forget going back to bed. There were only two hours until morning general quarters would be called at six. Any teasing hints of sleep he might get would only deepen his fatigue. Until he could sleep in earnest, he might as well fill the remaining time with useful work. He went to the chart room to update his charts. In previous campaigns, from the Marshalls to the Solomons to the Carolines, the Johnston’s crew had long ago proven their ability to function on a fractured sleep pattern.
At six, per the daily routine, the claxons sounded, setting the steel decks and ladders vibrating with the concussion of quick footsteps. The dawn-dusk call to battle stations was part of the daily regimen of structure and discipline designed to keep minds sharp and equipment ready. The Johnston stood down after a few minutes on alert. Then, unexpectedly, the general quarters claxon sounded again. After a midwatch in the Johnston’s laundry, seaman first class Bill Mercer was fast asleep in his bunk when the GQ alarm shrieking for a second time. He was at first slow to rise. But word that enemy ships were near shot life into him. Mercer sprang to his feet and sprinted toward his battle station on the port side forward forty-millimeter mount. He ran past Lee Burton, a ship’s cook who was busy setting up the breakfast chow line, and said, ‘How about some bacon? It may be the last I ever get.’ Burton told Mercer to help himself, and he did, gladly and generously. Then Mercer saw the tall shell splashes straddling the escort carrier Gambier Bay off the Johnston’s port bow and immediately lost his appetite.
Ellsworth Welch, the Johnston’s junior officer of the deck, was leaning over the rail on the port side of the bridge taking in the warm aromas of breakfast when he first saw the columns of water towering over the decks of an escort carrier. Instinctively he looked skyward, expecting to see enemy bombers overhead. But then he realized that their air-search radar would have long since spotted any planes. Torpedoman first class Thomas Sullivan mistook the sound of splashing water for dolphins at play. When he turned and saw the geysers, Sullivan knew that what he was seeing was the handiwork of a more warlike species of mammal. In the chief’s quarters, chief boatswain’s mate Clyde Burnett was lying in his bunk awaiting breakfast when a ship’s talker came on the PA and announced that a Japanese fleet was some fifteen miles away. ‘I thought someone was joking until I got topside and looked aft. The whole horizon seemed to light up from the gunfire,’ he said.
ABOARD THE HOEL, LT John C. W Dix knew something peculiar was in the air when he went belowdecks, cup of coffee and cigarette in hand, and ducked into the low-ceilinged compartment that housed the destroyer’s combat information center. Lt. Fred Green was at the plotting board, listening intently to voices on his headset and transcribing numbers with a grease pencil on the Plexiglas: 4, 6, 10. ‘Our Combat Air Patrol reports strange ships,’ Green said, ‘four battleships, six cruisers, ten tin cans. Listen, the pilot’s coming in again.’ A burst of static washed through the speakers, bringing a distant voice: ‘I’m drawing fire.’ Another wave of noise: ‘The bastards have pagoda masts.’ Dix checked the radar scope. In the upper left corner was a cluster of small green blips. Dix counted seventeen of them. Their range was less than forty thousand yards—about twenty-two miles.
Waiting in line for breakfast near the starboard hatch leading to his general quarters station in the forward fire room, water tender second class Chuck Sampson saw Dix come running down the ladder from the CIC shouting something about enemy ships closing with them. Sampson abandoned his place in line and dropped through the hatch and down the ladder to his battle station. Standing on the grating that divided the cavernous chamber into a split-level power station, Sampson shouted above the boilers’ din, telling his fellows on the black gang what was happening. Lt. Cdr. John Plumb, the engineering officer, arrived from the bridge to make sure the Hoel’s four boilers were lit. His snipes had already turned the wheels and thrown the switches that cut the boilers onto the main steam line. In the engine room someone threw open the main steam stop. Within minutes the ship had full power, its exhaust stacks unfurling large black clouds of boiler smoke. As quartermaster Clarence Hood took the helm with Herbert Doubrava, the fighting tops of foreign warships became visible on the horizon, a scattered but growing forest of angry steel. An alarmed voice was heard coming over the TBS: ‘Where the hell is Halsey?’ The Hoel’s general quarters alarm began ringing now, a pulsing, synthesized minor-key gonging ‘designed to jar the brain, to wake you, speed the senses, make you feel the pitch of keen excitement in the air, the urge to reach your battle station fast,’ as Lieutenant Dix put it.
For the second time that morning the ship came alive with the percussion of soles on steel decks. The galley emptied. Earlier risers gulped down the last of their scrambled eggs, navy beans, and cinnamon rolls, then sprinted through narrow passageways, ducked through hatches, raced up and down ladders. When GQ sounded, there was never any question where to go or what to do. But when the alert was unscheduled, a degree of mystery surrounded why exactly you were doing it. According to Lieutenant Dix: Maybe it’s just a false alarm. You run. You don’t know what it’s for, and so you run. Torpedoes could be heading for the ship or bombers diving in. You never know. Nobody tells you what it’s for. You run. You take your station first and then you ask. Nobody seems to know. The bell still rings. It’s hardest on the guys who stay below. You’ve reached your station—forward magazine. The other fellow’s there. He grabs the phone and calls up to the handling room to ask what’s up. They’re telling him the word. You watch his face, and now he’s telling you and watching yours. You hear him say, ‘The Japs have opened fire.’ He’s talking numbers. Twenty ships! A fleet! You don’t believe it’s true because you can’t get out on deck and see it for yourself.
Aboard the Samuel B. Roberts, Bob Copeland and everyone else who had spent the night listening to the Surigao Strait fighting on the TBS frequency knew that somewhere a Japanese fleet was in fast retreat. They had heard it with their own ears: the sighting reports, the heavy blasts, the satisfied chuckling of gunnery officers, and the plain-language chatter of Oldendorf’s skippers, exuberant as they ran down the stragglers of the Southern Force. The Japanese were fleeing, but in which direction? The question was of more than academic significance, for Taffy 3 steamed about a hundred miles north of where the Seventh Fleet’s big boys had routed Nishimura the night before. If the Japanese were fleeing north, there might be something to see.
Copeland was leaving the bridge to get a cup of coffee in the officers’ mess when Ens. Dudley Moylan, the officer of the deck on the morning watch, said, ‘Surface radar reports that they have a contact, sir, bearing three-three-zero approximately thirty or forty miles away.’ Edward Wheaton, a radar technician second class, said the image was kind of fuzzy, but yes, there was a dense pattern of echoes on the surface radar’s A-scope. Like the radar returns observed by monitors on the island of Oahu on December 7, 1941, they were easy to dismiss. Just as likely they were echoes of rainsqualls or nearby land masses. Peering out of a porthole from the pilothouse, Copeland spied a mass of gray clouds looming on the horizon. He told Wheaton, ‘Well, there’s a storm over there, but there could be something inside of it, so keep an eye on it.’ Copeland was halfway down the ladder to the mess when a lookout called to Moylan, ‘Object on the horizon. Looks like the mast of a ship.’
With dozens of others George Bray thought he’d go out on deck and get himself an eyeful. He heard a voice come over the ship’s loudspeaker. It was the executive officer, Bob Roberts: ‘If you’re interested, come up on deck. Remnants of the Japanese fleet are fleeing over the horizon.’ Here was something out of the routine. Bray, who was belowdecks turning in his laundry at the time, ran topside in time to see a white phosphorescent fireball illuminate the predawn morning with a phony brilliance, its smoky fingers falling in shallow arcs into the sea. The realization sickened him: somebody was taking a range on them. Sight-seeing hell, they had gone and gotten themselves into a fight. As the general quarters alarm sounded, Bray ran to his battle station in the after living quarters, grabbed the steel helmet out of his footlocker, and hustled to the stairwell where repair party number two was supposed to report. Gunnery officer Lt. Bill Burton, who had an especially sharp eye for ship silhouettes, confirmed for his captain that the mystery ships on the horizon belonged to Imperial Japan. Battleships. Heavy cruisers. They were big ones.
Bob Copeland never got his coffee. He got on the TBS radio and raised Admiral Sprague aboard the Fanshaw Bay. Copeland didn’t tell Sprague anything the admiral hadn’t already heard from Ensign Brooks, whose Avenger was at that moment being buffeted by flak from Kurita’s ships. The revelation that the enemy was not fleeing but advancing had the surreal quality of a dream. In everyone’s mind the far-fetched possibility of disaster had hitherto been shouted down by the certainty that any Japanese force approaching from the north would have to confront the thoroughbreds of the Third Fleet. Just the day before, the crews of Taffy 3’s ships had lined the decks to watch the carriers Franklin and Enterprise, accompanied by the fast battleships Alabama and Washington and an assortment of lesser ships, steam northward to join the rest of Halsey’s huge force. In the wake of that parade of dreadnoughts, reports that Japanese fleets were on the move inspired little fear. Oldendorf was to their south, Halsey to their north. There was nothing to fear from Japanese surface raiders.
On the bridge of the Samuel B. Roberts Lt. Tom Stevenson, in his slippers, chinos, and a T-shirt, and the assistant gunnery officer, Lt. (jg) John LeClercq, watched the towering mainmasts of Japanese battleships rise on the horizon and felt their sense of safety dissolve. Now and then the distant silhouettes were obscured by silent flashes of light from their cannonade. Although neither acknowledged as much to the other, Stevenson and LeClercq both knew they had little chance to survive. Heavy shells were inbound, and their own tiny ship was much too far away to strike back. As they prepared to head for their battle stations—Stevenson below to the CIC, LeClercq to supervise the aft forty-millimeter gun mount—the two officers shook hands and wished each other luck. Captain Copeland picked up the intercom mike and addressed the Roberts’s crew. That he was speaking for himself struck Ens. Jack Moore as unusual and urgent. Normally seaman Jack Roberts was the public address voice of his namesake warship. His southern drawl was all but unintelligible to anyone not acquainted with Dixie’s rhythms and diphthongs. But the skipper’s diction was as crisp as a litigator’s. He was talking fast and sounding more than a little nervous:
A large Japanese fleet has been contacted. They are fifteen miles away and headed in our direction. They are believed to have four battleships, eight cruisers, and a number of destroyers.
This will be a fight against overwhelming odds from which survival cannot be expected. We will do what damage we can.
Jack Moore was already at his GQ station in Sammy B.’s decoding room. The ensign had been late getting there, having stayed awake till the close of midwatch reading a novel in his bunk. When Moore arrived in the small windowless compartment containing the coding machine, the chief radioman, Tullio Serafini, was already at work. Moore offered a sleepy ‘good morning’ and Serafini acknowledged it. The portly Italian chief never talked much. Though he had played the royal baby at the crossing-the-line ceremony, he was the oldest man on the ship at forty-three and had little in common with boys twenty and more years his junior. Serafini was an immigrant from the Old Country whose Navy service dated to World War I. When Pearl Harbor was attacked, he had left a well-paying job in the Philadelphia Navy Yard and reenlisted despite both exceeding the age limit and his status as father of two. Serafini felt that he owed a debt of gratitude to the United States. Moore sensed that Tullio Serafini was the sort of guy who always made good on his debts. Captain Copeland was only too glad to accept payment on behalf of the nation. Recognizing Serafini’s talents, he waived the time requirements to make chief.
As a mail censor, Moore had gleaned some of Serafini’s personal history from a birthday letter the chief had written to his son.
Be a good, stout boy and mind your mommy all of the time, even when you think she might be wrong, so that your daddy can be proud of his eight-year-old man when he comes home again. [Signed] Your loving Daddy. P.S. Keep up the good grades in school.
The way Moore saw it, ‘Serafini’s entrance into the war was analogous to our country’s entrance…. They had worked and developed what they had until now it was worth protecting, even if it meant sacrificing their very being.’ A pronounced click on the intercom punctuated the end of Copeland’s announcement to his crew and left the young ensign and the old chief sitting in disbelieving silence. Serafini turned to Moore, cocked his head to the side, and puckered his lips in comic sadness. The communicator had nothing to say. Through the Samuel B. Roberts’s tour of the Pacific, Moore had learned to calm his men’s fears by reciting the betting odds that stood in their favor. En route to the Philippines, he had posted odds of ninety to one favoring their safe return. During the big typhoon at Leyte, he put them at fifty to one. ‘What are the odds, Mr. Moore?’ The question from an enlisted man took him aback. For the first time Moore could remember, the odds were not with them. He figured them at more like one to one—a fifty-fifty chance. Not fifty-fifty the Roberts and her band would win the battle, but fifty-fifty that any given man would live to see the next day’s sunrise. The enemy was too close, too big, too fast. One to one; that was about right.
Some other numbers helped tell that story. If the Japanese cruisers and destroyers could make thirty knots, they would gain about a mile on the fleeing eighteen-knot American carriers every five minutes. Any group of ships, no matter how swift, was effectively hostage to its slowest member. Moore avoided dwelling on where this arithmetic would put them in an hour or so. He occupied himself with the decoding machine, numbly punching in the five-character sequences he got from the radiomen. The five-character code blocks came from the radio department next door, where a row of enlisted men were busily transcribing encrypted radio traffic transmitted in Morse code over their earphones. The six exchangeable wheels inside the coding machine took Moore’s keyed input and spun and lined up and printed a thin white ribbon of plain-English prose. One of the messages that spooled out onto the ticker tape was important but brief. It was from Admiral Nimitz, addressed to all ships. According to Moore, ‘It read something like this: DUE TO THE SPLENDID AIRMANSHIP SHOWN IN YESTERDAY’S ENGAGEMENTS, AND WITH A CONTINUING OF SUCH COORDINATED ACTION, I CAN ASSURE A DEFEAT OF THE JAPANESE NAVY FROM WHICH IT WILL NEVER RECOVER.’ Ensign Moore threw the message to the floor in disgust. He didn’t know much about Kurita’s Center Force. Nor, as it happened, did Admirals Halsey and Nimitz. Whatever might be said of Admiral Kurita’s group, it had surely recovered from its beating by Third Fleet aviators the previous afternoon. It was bearing down now on Taffy 3, aiming to prove it.
At 6:35 A.M., as sunrise revealed a grayed-out and hazy dawn, the most powerful concentration of naval gun power the Japanese empire had ever assembled reordered its geometry in preparation for daylight operations. Twenty-five miles to Taffy 3’s north, lookouts on the heavy cruiser Chokai and light cruiser Noshiro reported aircraft approaching. So Halsey’s planes were coming after all, Takeo Kurita must have thought. Almost simultaneously, cat-eyed lookouts on the battleship Nagato spied masts on the horizon visible here and there through the rainsqualls that dropped down from the heavens like gauzy shrouds. An eight-knot easterly wind roused low swells from the sea. From the Yamato’s gunnery platform high above the bridge, Cdr. Tonosuke Otani, Kurita’s operations officer, squinted through a range-finding telescope and spotted the flat-topped silhouettes of American aircraft carriers.
The presence of carriers meant this was not Nishimura’s squadron. Kurita could not believe his luck. Here, within gun range at last, were the fast, first-line Essex-class fleet carriers that constituted the heart of the American fleet. There looked to be six or seven of them, accompanied by what lookouts took for Baltimore-class heavy cruisers, powerful combatants only six feet shorter than South Dakota-class battleships. The imagination of Admiral Koyanagi, Kurita’s chief of staff, ran wild. He believed they faced not an escort carrier group, but four or five big carriers escorted by one or two battleships and ten or more heavy cruisers. As Ziggy Sprague’s task unit flees eastward into the wind, its six jeep carriers scrambling their pilots and aircrews, Kurita’s Center Force begins its high-speed pursuit, its battleships firing heavy salvos at extended range.
At 6:59, loaded with rounds designed to penetrate heavy armor, the great 18.1-inch rifles of the battleship Yamato trained to starboard and opened fire on Taffy 3 at a range of nearly twenty miles. One minute later Kurita issued a fleet-wide order for a ‘general attack.’ The Kongo turned out to the east, in fast but independent pursuit. Ahead of the Yamato to port, the six heavy cruisers of Cruiser Divisions 5 and 7 formed into a single column, trying to take the lead in the chase. Angling to the southwest, the Nagato turned her sixteen-inch rifles twenty-five degrees to port and opened fire at a range of more than twenty miles. The swift Haruna loosed fourteen-inch salvos using its crude radar set.
Apparently unaware of the speed advantage his ships held over their American prey, Kurita seemed eager for his heavy cruisers to press the fight before the Americans could escape. A more disciplined (or better-informed) commander might have drawn his ships into a single line of battle, with destroyers in the forward van to scout the enemy and maneuver for a deadly torpedo attack. For all the strength the Japanese Center Force brought into play, its commanders were unsettled about the manner in which the battle began. In the midst of the shift to a daytime antiaircraft formation, with each captain operating at his own freewheeling discretion, confusion took command of the Center Force.
Vice Adm. Matome Ugaki, commanding Kurita’s First Battleship Division, composed of the Yamato and the Nagato, observed, ‘each unit seemed very slow in starting actions due to uncertainty about the enemy condition.’ ‘I feared the spirit of all-out attack at short range was lacking,’ Admiral Ugaki would write. The heavy cruisers led the Japanese charge on Taffy 3...
"Neighbor, How Stands the Union?": Live from Lafayette Square
Amid great fanfare, the statue of Andrew Jackson was dedicated in Lafayette Park on January 8, 1853, the thirty-eighth anniversary of the battle of New Orleans. An elaborate parade preceded the dedication. A distinguished group including General Winfield Scott, Senator Stephen A. Douglas of Illinois, and the mayor and city council of Washington marched to the entrance of the White House, where they were greeted by President Millard Fillmore and his cabinet. Through a crowd of more than twenty thousand, they marched across he street to Lafayette Park for the dedication. Senator Douglas gave an address on the military accomplishments of General Andrew Jackson and then introduced Clark Mills. Mills was so overcome with emotion that he could not speak and only pointed to the statue, which was then unveiled amid cheers and the salute of General Scott’s artillery.
The inscription on the west side of the marble pedestal reads “Jackson” and “Our Federal Union: It Must Be Preserved,” Jackson’s toast at a banquet celebrating Thomas Jefferson’s birthday on April 13, 1830. The phrase related to the nullification crisis...
Shortly after the dedication of the statue, the four Spanish cannons were placed at the corners. The pair on the north had been cast at the royal foundry in Barcelona in 1748 and were named for two Visigoth kings: El Witiza and El Egica. The two on the south were cast in 1773 and were named for two Greek gods: El Apolo and El Aristeo. The statue and cannons were enclosed by an iron fence soon after the dedication.
Note that this artist's lithograph from 1853 puts the inscription on the north side rather than on the west side, where it actually is...
I nevertheless find it interesting that in 1853 the political message of Jackson was not that of Jackson-the-Southerner or Jackson-the-Indian-Remover or Jackson-the-Plantation-Slaveholder or Jackson-the-Banker-Hater or Jackson-the-Eastern-Plutocrat-Loather, but rather of Jackson-the-Nationalist--supercharged by the implicit dig at the Masters of South Carolina that while they may think they simply have a temporary utilitarian arrangement of convenience with the rest of us, they are wrong: that we are all Americans, united (not associated or federated) in the United States of America...
Oration of the Hon. Stephen A. Douglas, on the Inauguration of the Jackson Statue, at the City of Washington, January 8, 1853:
All nations have marked the period of their highest civilization and greatest development by monuments to their illustrious
men. The hero, the statesman, the benefactor of the age, thus
passes on to succeeding generations, and carries with him the
glories of his time and the memory of the people associated with
his achievements. Trajan, on his historic column, illustrated to
successive generations the brilliant achievements in the field and
wise acts in council, which imparted lustre and immortality to
his reign. Constantine, from his storied arch, for centuries has
proclaimed religious toleration to the humble Christian, and
proudly recounted the glorious deeds of his life and times. The
sculptured marble, above the urns that hold their sacred ashes,
delineates the animated scenes in which that fame was won, and
command the admiration, if not the homage, of the world. The
best of emperors, Marcus Aurelius, looks from his fiery steed on
the realm he exalted — a group in monumental bronze the noblest
in all antiquity. It yet survives the ruin of his country, in sub-
lime majesty perpetuating the glories of the man and the grati-
tude of the Roman people, amidst a degradation to which it now
imparts a hope of regeneration. The statue before you is the
work of a man exalted by his enthusiasm for the glorious deeds
and wise acts of a hero and statesman. It is the work of a
young, untaught American. I cannot call him an artist. He
never studied nor copied. He never saw an Equestrian Statue,
not even a model. It is the work of inborn genius, aroused to
energy by the triumphant spirit of liberty which throbs in the great heart of our continent — which creates the power of great
conceptions, the aspiration and the will, the mental faculty and
the manual skill, to eternize the actors who ennoble the country,
by giving their forms and expressions to imperishable materials.
Proudly may we compare to the Equestrian Statues of Europe
that noble Roman figure, which preserves the form and features
of our hero, and that colassal war-horse in bronze which will
bear him in glory through future ages ! I have seen delineations
of the Equestrian Statutes of Peter the Great, of Frederick the
Great, and of the Duke of Wellington, which are esteemed, I be-
lieve, the best specimens of that description of sculpture that
modern Europe has been able to contribute to her collection of
works of art. The horse of the great Czar is supported in its
rampant position by the aid of an unsightly contrivance. Between its legs a serpent, by a bend in the body, connects with
the tail of the steed, and is fastened to the pedestal. That of the
great Prussian monarch, which is designed to appear in motion,
has one fore foot and another behind fixed to the pedestal ; a third
is maintained in an elevated position by means of a prop, which
is introduced to give stability to the statue by sustaining the
weight, while but one is left free to give the semblance of life
and movement. The rearing steed of the Duke of Wellington,
like that of Peter the Great, maintains its rampant position by
the hind legs and tail being riveted to the massive pedestal
What a wonderful triumph has our untaught countryman achieved over those renowned trophies of European art in the hot and
fiery charger before you, leaping " so proudly as if he disdained
the ground," self-poised and self-sustained on the single point
whence he derives his motion ! No props, no serpents, no unnatural contrivances, are here. Nature, which has taught the impetuous steed to poise his weight and gather his strength to spring
into the air, has given the genius which fashioned this group the
power to impart grace and energy to the finely-balanced attitude,
which makes the weight, that others prop and hold up by rivets,
furnish to the work its strength and stability.
But the real power of the noblest monument consists in the
moral grandeur of the recollections it recalls. The exquisite
beauty of the statue of Nero, by its contrast with the monster it
brings to mind, makes the heart recoil as from the shining folds
of a polished serpent. How different the beholder in the presence of the august form before us ! The image of the resistless
hero, who drove the the last invader from our shores, turns back
our thoughts to the eager boy who shed his stripling blood in the
Revolution, and to the resolute sage who withstood the corruption and phrenzy of his times, and to the patriot statesman whose
life and deeds mark a most eventful era in our national history.
Let me glance at some of the events in his glorious career, and
close with a view of him in his retirement at the Hermitage.
In the year 1765 a small vessel arrived in the harbor of Charleston with a number of Irish emigrants on board, who had fled from
tyranny and persecution in the old world to find peace and freedom in the new. Among them was a family by the name of
Jackson, consisting of Andrew and his wife, and their two sons,
Hugh and Robert. They immediately proceeded to the upper
country, and selected for their new home a lonely spot in the valley of the Waxhaw. Two years after, Andrew Jackson, whose
illustrious deeds have filled the world with his renown, was born.
The father died a few months after the birth of the son, who was
to inherit his name and render it immortal. Nobly did the widowed mother perform her duty to those fatherless children. The
earlier years of our hero's boyhood were spent in the peaceful
abode of Waxhaw Academy. He was there when the Revolution burst upon the world. The war-cry, from the bloody fields
of Lexington, and Concord, and Bunker Hill, aroused the people
of all the colonies to a just sense of their wrongs, and inspired
them with the firm resolve to assert and vindicate their rights.
The disastrous campaign which succeeded the first brilliant
achievements — the heroic movements of Washington at Trenton — the sufferings of the army at Valley Forge — the glorious
victory at Saratoga — excited, in alternation, the fears and hopes
of the people, and roused their patriotism to the highest point.
When the tide of desolation rolled over the scattered settlements
of the Carolinas, the whole population, old and young, proved
themselves worthy of freedom by the spirit in which they met the
ruthless oppressor. Hugh, the elder brother of Andrew Jackson,
fell in his first battle at Stono. Robert became a martyr to liberty, and lost his life from wounds received while in captivity.
The mother descended to the grave, a victim to grief and suffer-
ing, in ceaseless efforts to rescue and save her sons. Andrew
was thus left alone in the world at a tender age, without father
or mother, brother or sister, friend or fortune, to assist him. All
was gone save the high qualities with which God had endowed
him, and the noble precepts which a pious and sainted mother
had infused into his young heart. He had already, at the age of
fourteen, become a soldier of the Revolution — had borne the
fatigues and privations of the march with his musket on his
shoulder — had displayed the coolness, intrepidity, and fortitude of
the veteran in his first engagements with the enemy— had endured the sufferings of a cruel captivity ; and, for his manly re-
fusal to perform menial services while a prisoner, he had received
a wound from the sword of a British officer, the scar of which he
carried with him to his grave.
The enemy repulsed, the young hero returned to his studies to
prepare himself for the practice of the law, which he had selected
as a profession.
In the meantime the noble work of political regeneration was
pressed forward — the union of the colonies confirmed by the Articles of Confederation — the independence of the American States
acknowledged by the powers of Europe — the laws and institutions of the several States revised and moulded in conformity
with the inalienable rights of man — the fundamental principles
of civil and religious liberty established in the State Constitutions — and, growing out of, and resting upon these, was the organization of the Federal Government under that wonderful instrument, the Constitution of the United States. America then
stood forth a power on earth, with the immortal Washington at
its head. At peace with the nations of the Old World — with a
wise foreign policy, admirably adapted to our condition and relative position — with a wide-spread and rapidly increasing commerce — what more natural than that the energies of the people
should be directed to the settlement and development of that vast
and fertile wilderness in the valley of the Mississippi, and that
the Father of his Country should exert all rightful authority for
their protection in so laudable an enterprise? The several States
claiming title to those expansive regions, animated by a patriotic
and self-sacrificing spirit, had voluntarily executed deeds of cession and relinquishment, in order to create a common fund in the
hands of the Federal Government, with which to discharge the
debts of the Revolution. The ordinance of 1787, establishing
Territorial Governments, and providing for the erection of not
less than three nor more than five States, had opened to immigration and settlement the country northwest of the river Ohio;
while the extension of the main provisions of that act to the
country south of that river had created a civil government for the
people of the Southwest Territory. The tide of immigration had
commenced rolling westward, and was rushing across the Alleghanies through every pass and gorge in the mountains. The
bold adventurer, rejoicing in danger and novelty — the unfortunate, who hoped to regain his lost position — the poor emigrant,
with his wife and children, all that he could claim as his own on
earth — -could be seen wending their way, by the Buffalo paths
and Indian trails, to what seemed to them a promised land. The
Carolinians had descended the French Broad, had stretched along
the Holston, and penetrated the valley of the Cumberland. These
early pioneers were a peculiar people — hardy, daring, impatient
of restraint, and simple in their habits of life. Imbued with an
exalted sentiment of personal liberty and a keen perception of in-
dividual rights, they were ever ready with their lives to repel
aggressions or redress wrongs. Beneath these qualities were
clearly descernible all the elements of political organization, of
social development, and of a pure, unadulterated religious reverence. Foremost among the people, giving tone to their counsels,
and taking the lead in all important movements, was Andrew
Jackson. If Indian ravages upon the scattered settlements were
to be arrested — if the savage perpetrators were to be punished —
if daring outlaws were to be brought to justice — if the lonely
immigrant in the wilderness was to be rescued from the tomahawk or starvation— Jackson always led the gallant band. Attorney General of the Territory, by the appointment of Washington — member of the Convention which laid the foundations of
the State Government — major-general of the militia intrusted
with the defence of the inhabitants against the tomahawk and
scalping knife — a member of the House of Representatives, and a
Senator in the Congress of the United States — Judge of the Supreme Court of his State — the genius of Jackson was everywhere
indelibly impressed on the character of the people and the laws
and institutions of his own beloved Tennessee.
Amicable relations being established with the Indian tribes, and
symmetry and consistency imparted to their political and social
organizations, the people of Tennessee naturally turned their attention to the development and enjoyment of all those advantages with which soil, climate, and Nature, in its luxuriance and
magnificence, had surrounded them. Now, Jackson felt himself
at liberty to gratify an inclination he had long cherished, of with-
drawing from the cares and toils of official positions, and retiring
to his farm, rejoicing in the society of his devoted and beloved
wife, and surrounded by all the comforts and enjoyments his
tastes could suggest or his heart desire. He carried into retirement, and displayed in the management of his farm, and his intercourse with his fellow-citizens, the same high qualities which
had stamped invincibiltiy upon his character and success upon
his movements. His hospitable mansion was a home to the
stranger and the pioneer — his name was upon every tongue and
his praises were heard wherever his influence was felt. Becoming a silent partner in a mercantile establishment, he soon discovered the misfortune of his associate, by which the firm was
reduced to bankruptcy. Instantly recognizing the moral obligation to discharge the last farthing of indebtedness, he disposed of
his lands, his stock, his home — all the proceeds of his toils — and
became the humble tenant of a rude log-cabin, in preference to
the humiliation of pecuniary vassalage.
Such a man can always rise above misfortune. By the force
of his character, and the judicious application of his vast mental
resources, he soon recovered from his pecuniary embarrassments,
and became a flourishing and even wealthy farmer. From his
retirement he viewed with indignation the long series of British
aggressions on the commerce and flag of his native country. He
was an ardent supporter of the principles of Jefferson and Madi-
son, and especially of all those measures calculated to maintain
the rights of his country and redress the wrongs of his country-
men on the high seas. Had he succeeded in his aspirations to
the command which was unfortunately assigned to Winchester,
who can doubt, at this day, that the series of disasters on the
northern frontier, which filled the country with humiliation, and
clothed so many families in mourning, would have been averted ?
The terrible massacre at the river Raisin, succeding the disgraceful
surrender of Detroit by Hull, encouraged Tecumseh and the Pro-
phet to almost superhuman efforts for the accomplishment of their
grand design of an alliance between the British and all the savage
tribes, from the Gulf of Mexico to the northern lakes, for the purpose of exterminating with the sword and the tomahawk
the white race in the Mississippi valley, and of restoring all that
vast and fertile region — the heart of the American continent —
to its aboriginal proprietors, and of consecrating it to perpetual
barbarism under the protection of the British Government. The
arrangements were already perfected so far as the northwestern
country was concerned. Immediately after the massacre, Tecumseh, who possessed genius equal to any conception, and a
force of character commensurate with the magnitude of his
plans, started south, in fulfilment of his mission, going from tribe
to tribe, electrifying them by the power of his eloquence, and
driving them to madness byhorible pictures of monstrous wrongs
perpetrated by the American people. The Creeks, the Chickasaws,
the Choctaws, and the Seminoles, were the principal tribes yet
to be added to this savage alliance. The British, through the
Spaniards in the Floridas, with whom they were also in alliance,
had prepared the minds of the southern tribes for the favorable
reception of Tecumseh. The mission proving successful, savage
war, with all its horrors and tortures, burst upon the defenceless
settlements like a thunderbolt. What tongue can describe or
pencil paint the revolting scene at Fort Mimms, or wherever
else the infuriated savage could find the objects of his vengeance ?
Neither age nor sex was spared. All were doomed to instant
destruction, or reserved for a slower process, by being subjected
to brutalities and barbarities worse than sudden death. Amid
the universal alarm and consternation all eyes were turned to
Jackson — every voice proclaimed him the chosen leader to arrest
the sweeping torrent of desolation.
Who can describe the wild and frightful scenes of that unparalleled Indian campaign — the heroism of the leader — the celerity
of his movements — the fatigues of the march — the privations of
the men — the impetuosity of the charge — every skirmish a victory ; every battle a triumph — the barbarian alliance dissolved —
the savage tribes dispersed and pursued in every direction, and,
finally, reduced to submission in the brief period of six months?
The importance of these decisive and overwhelming achievements can hardly be realized. The British allies of the confederated savages, in pursuance of the plan of campaign as agreed
upon with Tecumseh and the Prophet, were hovering around the
Gulf coast; arming and drilling the Indians in the Floridas; meditating a descent upon Fort Bowyer and Mobile, preparatory to
the concentration of the confederated forces upon New Orleans
and Louisiana. Concurrent events in Europe were favorable to
the success of the mighty scheme. The abdication of Napoleon
and his flight to Elba had restored the hereditary monarchs to
the thrones of their ancestors, and enabled Great Britain to withdraw her veteran troops from the continent, and hurl them upon
the defenceless shores of the Gulf of Mexico, in concert with
their savage allies. The destruction of the barbarian league by
Jackson, and the submission of the scattered tribes, had broken
the force of the impending blow, and opened the way for a trial
of strength, single-handed, between the soldiers of freedom and
veterans in the cause of oppression. At the critical moment, and
as if by the hand of an overruling Providence, Jackson was appointed major general in the army, and assigned to the command
of the Southern division. Time will not allow me to more than
glance at the most striking events in the campaign. The British
were occupying the Spanish forts at Pensacola, stimulating the
Indians to a renewal of hostilities, and preparing for a descent
upon Fort Bowyer and Mobile, and ultimately upon New Orleans,
as the chief point of attack. Jackson's remonstrances with the
Spanish Governor against harboring the enemy in what was professedly neutral territory being disregarded — his application to his
own Government for permission to vindicate the violated laws
of neutrality remaining unanswered — the absence of instructions
on points of vital importance at a time when inaction was ruin —
who does not remember with what resistless energy he threw
his protecting arm around Mobile, provided for Lawrence's heroic
defence of Fort Bowyer, planted his little army in front of Pensacola, and when his messenger was fired upon by the orders of
the Governor, stormed the batteries, entered the town, hauled
down the British flag, drove the enemy into the sea, and had
the Spanish Governor at his feet, imploring mercy and forgiveness for the past, and faithfully promising a religious observance
of the laws of neutrality in the future ? Who can describe the
rapidity of his movements for the defence of New Orleans — the
magic effect of his presence in suppressing treasonable purposes —
infusing confidence into the hearts of the desponding — his sleep-
less vigilance in watching the movements of the enemy within
and without his camp — and his capacity for creating elements of defence where none had been provided ? Who can forget his
glorious victories on the 23d of December and the 8th of January ? Who has not admired the self-sacrificing courage of the
hero, who, to save the city and prevent the dismemberment of
the Republic, assumed the awful responsibility of superseding,
the civil authorities in the hour of extreme danger, in order, immediately, afterwards to lend his patriot arm to the maintenance
of the supremacy of the law ? Who can paint the moral grandeur of the scene where the victorious soldier — the benefactor of
the nation and the saviour of the city — fresh from the theatre of
his glory, with his triumphant army around him, stands calmly
before the judge, whose dignity he had recently offended, in the
performance of an imperative duty, and meekly submits to an
ignominious sentence and a heavy pecuniary penalty ? Behold
him quieting the murmurs of the indignant multitude, and extending his protection to the trembling judge, and bidding him
proceed with his sentence. Follow him as he leaves the court,
receiving the homage, the thanks, the prayers of a grateful people, mingled with resentments and imprecations upon the judge!
Hear him, in tones of eloquence and power, enjoining upon them
strict obedience to the civil as the paramount authority, since the
necessity which caused its suspension had ceased to exist, and
his conduct requires no other vindication.
With the battle of the 8th of January the war is closed ; New
Orleans is saved; Louisiana remains a part of the American confederacy ; the idea of a barbarian empire is exploded ; the Mississippi valley is reserved for the abode of civilization and Christianity; the proposition of the British commissioners at Ghent,
that an unalterable boundary should be established for the Indians, from Cleveland, through the mouth of the Kentucky river,
to the Gulf of Mexico, is rendered impossible ; the British scheme
of erecting an impassible barrier to the growth and extension of
our great Republic is abandoned. These are some of the results
of Jackson's wonderful Indian and Southern campaigns, which
terminated with his glorious achievements at New Orleans. Had
the Indian war resulted adversely, the torch would have blazed
from the lake to the gulf— New Orleans must have inevitably fallen without a struggle, and the greater portion of the Mississippi
valley passed under the possession of the British barbarian league.
Twelve States and four organized Territories have since been erected out of the country which was thus to have been dedicated
to barbarism under British protection ! The tide of emigration,
carrying with it all the elements of political progress, social development, and industrial enterprise, continues to roll westward
until it mingles with the waves of the Pacific. With the return
of peace the business of the country revives, credit is restored,
energy and enterprise pervade every department of industry, and
the country leaps forth upon the swelling tide of prosperity in its
career of greatness.
Jackson was not permitted long to enjoy the social endearments
and quiet repose of the Hermitage* At the instigation of Spanish officials and Britsh emissaries, the tomahawk and scalping-knife of the Seminoles were again spreading desolation and carnage over our southern borders. Jackson was ordered to repair
to the scene of slaughter, with instructions to drive back and
chastise the savage invaders, and with authority, if necessary for
that purpose, to pursue them into the Floridas. You have not
forgotten with what terrible energy he hurled his forces upon the
enemy's headquarters at St. Marks — demolished their works —
seized and executed the British incendiaries who instigated the
massacres— pursued the fugitive savages — disregarded the pro-
tests and threats of the Spanish Governor — descended on Pensacola — pursued the terrified Governor, with the murderers under
his protection, to Fort Carlos, and planted the stars and stripes
upon its battlements. By the swiftness of his movements, the
power of his example, and the terror of his name, he reduced the
savage tribes, humbled the Spanish authorities, and expelled the
British emissaries.
He was thus enabled to terminate the war, provide security and
repose to our frontier settlements, and return the same year to the
shades of the Hermitage. This campaign laid the foundation for
the acquisition of the Floridas, and the dispersion of the innumerable hordes of bandits and pirates who infested the coast,
committing depredations upon our settlements and commerce, and
finding shelter in the bayous and everglades. Upon the ratification of the Florida treaty, Jackson was appointed by the President
commissioner to receive the ceded provinces, and Governor of the
new territory, endowed with all the civil and judicial as well as
military authority which the Spanish Governors had wielded.
Clothed with almost unlimited power, he exercised with a firm hand and unyielding nerve whatever authority was necessary for
the protection of society and the suppression of violence. Exhausted by duty and exposure, his physical system sunk under the
effects of the climate, and he was borne upon a litter through
the wilderness to his beloved home on the banks of the Cumberland.
He declined the mission to Mexico, tendered by President Monroe, and would gladly have remained in retirement, had not the
affection of Tennessee placed him in the Senate of the United
States, and the grateful voice of the people called him to preside
over the destinies of the Republic. Jackson came into the Presidency with his political principles well matured and immutably
fixed. The exalted sentiment of personal freedom and sacred regard for individual rights which he had conceived in the turbulent
times of the Revolution, and which had been so clearly discernible
in all the vicissitudes of his eventful career, it was now his mission to carry into the practical administration of the Government,
and impress upon the public policy of the country. Time will
not permit, even were the occasion appropriate, a detailed exposition of the leading measures and great acts of his brilliant administration. Nor, indeed, can it be necessary. The great and
striking events of that animated period remain fresh in the memory, and vivid before the mental vision. He met each question
as it arose with a directness and frankness in harmony with his
previous life. He seemed to solve the most intricate problem of
statesmanship by intuition. He perceived truth in its totality,
without the tedious process of analysis, and was able to see the
remotest consequences of an act while the wisest around him
could only perceive its immediate results.
The high qualities which, on a different theatre, had sustained
him in every emergency — enabled him to rise superior to all resist-
ance — never failed him in his civil administration. Calm, patient,
and even deferential in counsel, when his opinion was matured
and his resolution formed, he threw all the fiery energy of his
nature into its execution. The history of his civil career, like
that of his military campaigns, consists of a rapid succession of
terrific conflicts and brilliant achievements, in which he never
lost a battle or failed in a skirmish. His state papers will stand
forth, so long as the history of this Republic shall be read, as imperishable monuments to his statesmanship. While the present generation offers up the homage of grateful hearts for patriotic
services to the noble spirits who were engaged in those fiery conflicts, time must determine and history record the relative merits
of the respective systems of political policy.
At the expiration of General Jackson's second Presidential term
he retired forever from public life, and repaired to the shades of
the Hermitage. He continued to feel an abiding interest in public affairs without the least desire to re-enter the political arena.
He had the satisfaction of seeing the line of policy, in support of
which his mighty energies had been so long exerted, receive the
sanction of the nation. He had the consolation of knowing that
his official conduct had been approved by the constituted authorities of his country, in obedience to the voice of the people,
on every point in which it had been seriously called in question.
He felt that his work was done— his mission fulfilled. The re-
mainder of his days were spent in the society of his family, in im-
proving his farm, and dispensing a generous, unbounded hospi-
tality. In the social circle, and around the domestic hearth, he
was as simple as a child, remarkable for his amiability and his
capacity for making all happy around him. Much of his time
was occupied in conversations and meditations upon religious
subjects. He who never feared the face of man was not ashamed
to confess his fear of God and his faith in the Redeemer. In the
fullness of hope he serenely approached the end of his earthly
career, and died in the triumphant consciousness of immortality
beyond the grave. His death produced a profound impression
upon the hearts and minds of men. The voice of partisan strife
was hushed, while a continent was clad in mourning and bathed
in tears. All felt that a great man had fallen. Yet there was
consolation in the consciousness that the lustre of his name, the
fame of his great deeds, and the results of his patriotic services,
would be preserved through all time— a rich inheritance to the
devotees of freedom. He still lives in the bright pages of history, in the marks of his genius upon the institutions of his country, and by the impress of his character upon that of his countrymen. He lives in his own great example and by his heroic
achievements. He lives in the spirit of the age — the genius of
progress which is to ennoble and exalt humanity, and preserve
and perpetuate liberty.
October 23, 2014
Dylan Byers "I’ve Had Enough Of You Water-Drinking, Air-Breathing Urban Elitists" Edition: Hoisted from the Internet from Two Years Ago
As a follow up to Politico's embrace of BP, a correspondent reminds me of Politico from two years ago. Scott Lemieux does the garbage cleanup:
I’ve Had Enough Of You Water-Drinking, Air-Breathing Urban Elitists: [M]y favorite part of the Politico’s war on Nate Silver. As others have pointed out, [Dylan Byers's] botched hack cliche is comedy gold:
For this reason and others--and this may shock the coffee-drinking NPR types of Seattle, San Francisco and Madison, Wis.--more than a few political pundits and reporters, including some of his own colleagues, believe Silver is highly overrated.
Look, I knew those snooty elitists in Seattle and San Francisco looked down on me and my kind, but now you tell me that they drink coffee? No real American would ever be caught dead consuming this obscure product. I tell you, every election cycle it becomes harder to be a regular American. White wine, Lipton Green Tea, orange juice, Grey Poupon, coffee--every day you discover some product that my relatives in rural Saskatchewan would always have in their pantry that marks you as an out-of-touch urban elitist in the eyes of D.C.-based Ivy Leaguers.
Liveblogging World War II: October 23, 1944: Battle of Leyte Gulf
Wikipedia: Battle of Leyte Gulf:
As it sortied from its base in Brunei, Kurita's powerful 'Center Force' consisted of five battleships (Yamato, Musashi, Nagato, Kongō, and Haruna), ten heavy cruisers (Atago, Maya, Takao, Chōkai, Myōkō, Haguro, Kumano, Suzuya, Tone and Chikuma), two light cruisers (Noshiro and Yahagi) and 15 destroyers.
Kurita's ships passed Palawan Island around midnight on 22–23 October. The American submarines Darter and Dace were positioned together on the surface close by. At 00:16 on 23 October, Darter 's radar detected the Japanese formation at a range of 30,000 yd (27,000 m). Her captain promptly made visual contact. The two submarines quickly moved off in pursuit of the ships, while Darter made the first of three contact reports. At least one of these was picked up by a radio operator on Yamato, but Kurita failed to take appropriate antisubmarine precautions.
Darter and Dace traveled on the surface at full power for several hours and gained a position ahead of Kurita's formation, with the intention of making a submerged attack at first light. This attack was unusually successful. At 05:24, Darter fired a spread of six torpedoes, at least four of which hit Kurita's flagship, the heavy cruiser Atago. Ten minutes later, Darter made two hits on Atago 's sister ship, Takao, with another spread of torpedoes. At 05:56, Dace made four torpedo hits on the heavy cruiser Maya (sister to Atago and Takao).
Atago and Maya quickly sank. Takao turned back to Brunei, escorted by two destroyers—and was followed by the two submarines. On 24 October, as the submarines continued to shadow the damaged cruiser, Darter ran aground on the Bombay Shoal. All efforts to get her off failed, and she was abandoned. Her entire crew was, however, rescued by Dace.
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