An Unlikely President

Herbert Clark Hoover is one of our unlikeliest presidents. There is nothing in his childhood or his young manhood to indicate the slightest interest in holding high political national office. He was born to a Quaker couple in the small Iowa town of West Branch in 1874. Jesse and Hulda Hoover were hard-working and thrifty and their prosperity increased satisfactorily. From owning and operating a blacksmith shop, Jesse was able to open a farm implement store. The family (Bert, his older brother and younger sister) moved to a spacious two-story brick home and seemed to be set for a happy life. Then, when Bert was 6, Jesse died.

Hulda took in a boarder and did sewing to earn money. By raising a large vegetable garden she was able to keep her family together. Four years later Hulda died. Bert was ten. The children were split up and Bert was sent to live with his mother’s brother, Dr. John Minthorn, in Newberg, Oregon. Newberg was a new town, founded by Quakers, and Bert spent the rest of his childhood with the Minthorns in Oregon. He loved to camp out in the Cascade Mountains and to fish the trout streams.

He was in the pioneer class of Stanford University and always looked back on his college days with affection. He majored in geology with the intention of becoming a mining engineer and was fortunate to have one of the foremost mining engineers of the day as his teacher and mentor. He worked his way through college, doing whatever jobs came to hand or that he could devise in order to complete his course.

He met Lou Henry during his senior year at Stanford. Lou’s father was a wealthy banker who, lacking a son, had brought her up to go fishing and camping with him. She relished the outdoors and had decided to take up mining engineering, a decidedly unusual choice for a woman at the time. She was still studying at Stanford when Bert went to London to interview for a job with the English firm, Bewick, Moreing.

They wanted him to go to Australia and Bert could see that it was a marvelous opportunity so he went. He did exemplary work for the firm and found he had an amazing talent for organization. He was making a great deal of money and had arranged to have some of his salary made over to pay for college for his siblings and to help some friends with expenses and to have a big chunk put into savings. When Bewick, Moreing decided to send him to China, he wired a marriage proposal to Lou and she wired her acceptance back.

His journey to Monterey, where the Henrys lived, was by way of London so he could confer with the firm’s executives. Arriving in Monterey, he was the Henrys’ houseguest until the wedding. After the reception, Bert and Lou took the train to San Francisco and the next day they embarked on a ship to China. Again, Bert’s work was exemplary and his salary and commissions rose to what were fabulous sums for the time. He was 27 when he was made a partner in Bewick, Moreing.

Bert’s first involvement in national politics came in 1914 when, with no official standing at all, he helped Americans stranded in Europe to return home when World War I broke out. His successful efforts were brought to the attention of President Wilson, who appointed him to various famine relief efforts. In 1919, Bert headed the American Relief Administration and saved millions from starvation in 21 countries. Presidents Harding and Coolidge appointed Bert as Secretary of Commerce and in 1928 he was elected President.

It’s an unlikely trajectory for a mining engineer who showed no signs of wanting to be a politician for the first forty years of his life.

The Kindness of a Stranger

Over the past thirteen years, I have come to hate my commute from Columbia, Maryland to Dupont Circle, Washington, D.C. I drive Highway 95 South to Greenbelt and take the Metro from there. It takes nearly two hours each way, when everything runs right, which is seldom. Sometimes my fellow beings get on my nerves until I’d like to scream in their faces. Only, I know that I would get arrested and probably spend the night in jail. I don’t know why some of the people who scream in my ear don’t get arrested.

But sometimes people are unexpectedly kind and it’s rather shocking to encounter kindness on my commute. An incident this morning reminded me of how kind people sometimes are. I was reading a book on the train and nearly missed my change-of-trains from the Green Line to the Red Line at Fort Totten. I just made it out the door before it slammed shut. I was so elated at making it – then I saw that three or four people were looking at me through the window and pointing at the seat I had just left. Dismay flooded through me as I realized that my right hand held only the book. My tote bag was in my left hand and my purse should have been in my right. I’d left it on the train and the train was gone.

If you have ever lost your purse or your wallet, you know how I felt at that moment. What to do? It only took a moment to skim over my accusations of self-stupidity – the book wasn’t even that good – and assess the probability that one of those people who pointed out that I’d left my purse would turn it in at the next stop, Georgia Avenue -- Petworth. Sure enough, the attendant there had the purse. After we settled the question of identity, all of which evidence was in the purse, of course, he handed it over and I embraced it gladly, uttering copious thanks. I took the next train back to Fort Totten, changed trains successfully, and didn’t miss my stop at Dupont Circle.

Someone (for some reason, I am quite sure the kindness was the work of a young Black woman who was sitting by the window) took the time and trouble to scoop up my purse and take it up to the kiosk to the attendant. It wasn’t an arduous task but it was one more hassle in a stranger’s day that she didn’t have to undertake. After all, it was nothing to her if I lost my purse. She might quite justifiably have felt that if I couldn’t be bothered to hang onto my belongings, she was not obliged to pick up after me. I am grateful that she decided to give me a break this morning. I wish I knew her name and address so I could send her a thank you note, at least. As it is, all I can do is repeat her kindness when the opportunities arise.