December 11th, 1920.

Personal and Confidential.

Hon. David F. Houston, 
Secretary of the Treasury,
Washington, D.C.

My dear Mr. Houston:-

Some years ago I was on a train with my wife. She suddenly became deathly sick. I ran through the train shouting for a doctor. One rushed to her side, whipped out his hypodermic needle, gave her an injection of strychnine, waited for a few minutes, then gave her another, and literally snatched her from the grave into which she was rapidly sinking.

I write with rigid accuracy when I tell you that conditions in North Carolina are just as critical and fraught with as fatal possibilities as the condition of my wife on the train. Unless swift and heroic action shall be taken, this condition will produce more casualties in North Carolina than did the world war. Several weeks ago a farmer in this county went to town, saw what tobacco was bringing on the market, and then went home and blew his brains out.¹ On Monday of this week a banker in an adjoining county, highly honorable and successful, struggled to keep open that little bank of which he was President, and failing to do so died by his own hand.²

These are tragic manifestations of a despair that covers this State like a blanket. I do not think many of our people will resort to such a fearful avenue of escape, but tens of thousands of good men are "on the wheel" and will soon become human wrecks unless you prevent it.

I am not disturbed by the thought of men who will this year lose one-half the earnings of a life time. But the men who haunt me, and whose frightened faces make me sit up in bed at four o'clock in the morning and write you this letter, are the men who have worked hard, practiced economy, and yet are being driven to utter and irretrievable ruin.

I do not overstate the facts when I say that unless something radical be done for our relief before Christmas the chief business in North Carolina in January and February will be that of financial undertakers.

Can the Nation afford to see these men swept over the brink without throwing out a single life line? In the "Hoosier School-Master" the little orphan boy Shoeky would sometimes wistfully say, "Has God forgot?" My dear Mr. Houston, the Nation's best breed of men-- honest, intelligent, brave-- are asking the question, "Has our Government forgot?"

I am not a trained political economist. I know very little about the technicalities of national or international finance. But I do know the people and I know it bodes no good for our most conservative and most patriotic people to be asking the question, "What is the Government for?"

I am proud of America's financial prestige. I am proud that the American dollar leads all the rest, but it would be far better for the American dollar to suffer a temporary depression than for its triumphant march to be marked by broken and blasted American lives. It is the human equation in the problem that drives sleep from my eyes, and it is for man and not for money that I plead.

Naturally, you will ask the question, "What do you want me to do?" My answer is, "You are the Doctor; whip out your hypodermic and inject something-- I don't care what-- into the situation that will keep men from being destroyed.

I believe in deflation, but not in damnation. We were up in the air and had to come down, but for God's sake let us come down in a parachute. Don't kick us out of the biplane and send us tumbling down head over heels.

I make bold to offer two suggestions:

1. Let the Federal Reserve Board issue a public request to all bankers and creditors to grant liberal renewals and indulgences, and not to press any debtor to the wall when it appears that by the most careful treatment he will be ultimately able to pay out. Tell the people that the real wealth of this country is unimpaired, that the markets are temporarily dead, but that they will come to life after awhile, and things will be all right. Such a statement would keep billions of property from being slaughtered and save millions of men now on the brink of ruin.

Somebody will have to hold our cotton and our tobacco until the market that is now dead shall become a thing of life. I beg you to help the men who produce the crops to hold them, not from the market, but for the market. If the farmers are forced to turn loose their cotton now it will not go to the manufacturers but into the hands of speculators who neither toil nor spin.

2. Go into the bank reserves and let the people have enough money to tide over this crisis. An eminent banker said to me the other day that by reducing the reserves to thirty per cent the banks could turn loose two and a half billions of dollars. In God's name tell the banks to turn it loose! A half billion dollars in the South would insure prosperity where stark ruin now stares us in the face. What is a reserve for? It is a gun behind the door. The wolf is standing on the threshold. In God's name use the gun!

I am writing this letter, not in a spirit of criticism, but in the desperate hope of inducing you to do something to keep man from being destroyed on account of the temporary lack of money.

I am marking this letter confidential, not because I have any objection to your showing it to any one you may see fit, but because I do not want it to be given out for publication. The publication of the facts would only aggravate a situation that is already desperate enough.

I am taking taking the liberty of sending a copy of this letter to Governor Harding of the Reserve Board.

With sentiments of great esteem, I beg to remain,

Sincerely yours,

[unsigned]

B-HBG

1. This is most likely in reference to a farmer in Wendell, North Carolina, named Joe Brannan.

2. This reference is most likely to Neill Thomas Patterson of neighboring Harnett County, North Carolina.