Mt. Vernon, VA. (Special to the New York Tabloid). — Feb. 22, 1932. The talons of the law today closed upon a master mind among racketeers, ex-President George Washington, known as Cherry-tree George. For four hours Fed ...

Suppose George Washington were alive today, and you and everybody knew it. Suppose you regarded him as you do today, as the best, the noblest, the purest among men. If you picked up this morning's paper and read these headlines, how would you feel?

You'd be amazed — outraged — infuriated. Everybody would feel that way. Why, Washington could never have done anything illegal!

Let's look at just what he did when he was alive, and see how long in 1932, doing the same things, he could keep out of jail.

We are, today, a nation of lawbreakers. And that isn't our fault. It's the fault of the mad Niagara of laws that the lawmakers turn out every year. Most of us violate at least one law a day, and like it.

But surely the Father of His Country would never collide with the laws!

Washington's clash with the laws would begin early. When he was nearly nineteen he went swimming, one sweltering summer day, in the Rappahannock River. He piled his clothes on the bank, and hopped in. As he was splashing around, two girls, with too much of a sense of humor, appeared on the scene. They took a good look, giggled, swiped the clothes, and returned to the village — leaving mankind's noblest son without even a necktie.

He got home somehow, the historians-say. On that return trip somebody certainly saw him. History does not chronicle whether he went home shivering in a barrel, or how. One of those who saw him today would be sure to be a state trooper or a deputy sheriff. "Hey, you! What the hell you think you are — a beauty contest?"

"Officer, two audacious female miscreants purloined my attire — "

"Oh, yeah? Tell that to the judge!"

Scene: A Virginia courtroom. Characters: A judge, an arresting officer, onlookers, George Washington in a barrel.

The judge would have stared curiously at the apparition before him — encouraging, rather than quieting, the snickers and ribald wise cracks from the court hangers-on.

"Young man" — with a portentous frown — "this is a very serious matter. Willfully and lewdly exposing the person in any public place — "

"But, your Honor, it wasn't lewd. Those two dreadful girls — Oh, and, your Honor, I'm only a minor." For, then or today, Washington would know some of the law.

"Young man, we have houses of correction for juvenile delinquency; don't forget that. If you want to start one of these nude cults, you'd better go back to Russia, where they came from.... First offense, you say? Oh, well, I've gone swimming myself, as a boy. I'm willing to let you off this time. But you get your father to buy you a pair of trunks, anyhow. This is a moral country...."

"Back in 1750, the expectant Father of His Country fared better. He had the two girls arrested. One was convicted, and was punished with fifteen vigorous lashes on her handsome bared back. Nobody troubled the young male September Morn then.

Washington kept a diary, methodically and persistently, to the end of his life. This reveals that most of his time, when he was not actively Presidenting or generaling, was divided among hunting, card playing, and attendance at balls. He played cards constantly for stakes. Fairly low stakes, usually; but the law is no respecter of such economy. Do you know what it says about playing cards for money? The statute solemnly provides that anybody who does is a "common gambler," punishable by imprisonment for not more than two years, or by a fine of not more than a thousand dollars, or both!

You may think this is silly; but it's the law. People play cards today for money stakes. I never met a bridge crack in America who didn't boast specifically of his winnings; I've rarely met a bridge player who didn't — not to speak of players of poker, pinochle, red dog, Michigan, and so on and on. I myself have ...

We don't get arrested for this, as a rule, even if the law does call us "common gamblers" for it, and prescribe jail sentences. But in certain cases we do get arrested, today, for things equally trivial and popular. At all events, a drive against card gamblers would have netted Washington repeatedly.

He was always at it. On a trip to Boston, he got nicked for thirty dollars. At Mount Vernon it was a daily pastime; and he played so successfully that over four years he lost less than forty dollars, after his winnings had been deducted. But this would not have saved him if the police had been courageously directing a drive against card gambling, or if Washington had been in bad with the political bigwigs for some other reason.

And so today the officers might raid Mount Vernon, and bring its aggrieved proprietor to face the stern eye of what is, amusingly enough, called justice.

"But, your Honor! Only a friendly game — "

"This isn't the first time you've been arrested. A friendly game is as bad as any other."

"I didn't know — "

"Ignorance of the law is no defense. You know that. Every man is presumed, by law, to know the law. Even I'm presumed to know it."

"But I'm very fond of cards, your Honor. Everybody plays. Why, at Mount Vernon, only last week, you yourself lost — "

Bang! Bang! Bang! The gavel would pound the defendant to silence. "This is the last straw! It's dangerously close to contempt of court. The court, of course, can take no judicial cognizance of what the court himself may have done, as a private citizen, at Mount Vernon last week, or anywhere, at any time, when there is no evidence before the court concerning the court's private actions. You know that. I have no alternative, under the laws of the State of Virginia, but to sentence you to jail for a minimum of fifteen days, plus the minimum fine of one hundred dollars. If you're ever brought before me again for — "

He would repeat the offense: his passion for card playing never left him. If war were to break out today, and such a drive had started, either against Washington personally or against card playing, the government would have to call for a dentist to extract Washington from jail before it could put him in command of the army.

We haven't begun to touch Washington's career as a gambler yet. He bet constantly on cockfights and occasionally fought his own cock. Double offense, double penalty. He raced horses, and bet on the results. Single offense: for racing a horse is no more an offense than running a cracker-eating Marathon. He won and lost money at billiards and playing the lotteries.

Cards and billiards they might have overlooked; even gambling on the horses might get by. But playing the lotteries and cockfighting would have included him prominently in Who's Who in Our Jails.

Card playing, attendance at balls, hunting. In January, 1770, Washington went hunting on eight different occasions. He hunted not only foxes but deer and ducks. Hunting deer and ducks in the closed season is regarded seriously today. Game wardens would keep their eyes peeled for the Mount Vernon Nimrod.

We're omitting Washington's minor infractions of the law: violating parking ordinances with his horse or his carriage; failure to report contagious diseases to local health authorities; putting an iron "health ring," bought from a faker, on his stepdaughter Patsy, to cure her of "fits"; carrying concealed weapons constantly; notorious abusive language in public; marking his wheat flour "Of the Highest Grade" without governmental inspection; and a thousand minor infractions of laws and regulations of the Department of Agriculture. Washington might probably obey the law in all of these things today.

But there are more serious matters.

Take the violation of election laws. In 1753 Washington entered politics, running for the Virginia House of Burgesses from Frederick County. During the election he furnished to the voters the following liquid arguments for his election:

3½ pints of brandy

8 quarts of cider royal

28½ gallons of wine

43 gallons of beer

1 hogshead, 1 barrel, and 40 gallons of rum punch

Washington's diary fails to state what the other candidates furnished. But it must have been a damp day. Washington received three hundred and one ballots, and won bottoms up.

Virginia law is strict as far as elections are concerned. From sunset on the day before, until sunrise thirty-six hours afterward, no one is allowed to sell or give away any "wine, ardent spirits, malt liquors, cider, or any mixture of any of them," in the district in which the election is held. Fine and jail sentence, on conviction. For the moment, we'll overlook breaches in the Volstead fortifications here. It's enough that this would knock the Corrupt Practices Act into a cocked brown derby; and that Washington would have served his term as legislator largely in jail.

By now it begins to be obvious that the best of all possible men would today have a long, long jail record.

And we have just begun.

Perhaps you may think that flouting the law is a modern pastime. There were some laws that Washington didn't think so much of in his actual lifetime. There was a statute of the Continental Congress that its paper money was legal tender for all debts. This paper money had grown cheaper and cheaper, until it was just about valueless. Now, Washington was a shrewd business man all his life. He had many debtors for money loaned as well as goods sold. For a little while he accepted the Continental paper rubles. And then he instructed his manager at Mount Vernon that enough was too much, and hereafter debts were to be paid in real money. This broke the law then; it would break it today. The debtors were pretty good business men, too; it would not have taken them long to get the Federal agents busy, and Mr. Washington would have found himself plunked down in the Federal pen for a lengthy visit.

A little earlier, the King of England had prohibited anyone from settling on any of the vast public domain west of the Alleghenies, or even buying any of it from the Indians. Did Washington obey this law? He did not. He wrote to his land agent, a Colonel William Crawford — who was later barbecued by the Indians — to proceed into the Ohio territory and "secure some of the most valuable lands in the King's part, which I think may be accomplished after a while notwithstanding the proclamation that restrains it at present, and prohibits the settling of them at all."

The government today isn't a bit polite to people who take over its public domain illegally, as "owner, or agent, or who shall aid, abet, counsel, advise or assist" in this land larceny.

Most of the things Washington did as military commander would be either rewarded with medals or, at the worst, overlooked, due to the emergency conditions. But there was one failing he did have which would get him in infinite Dutch today; he did like his flogging. When he took charge of the Continental army, discipline just wasn't. Washington approved of flogging enthusiastically, introduced it, and constantly ordered it. The usual punishment was thirty-nine lashes; and in 1776 Washington wrote to the president of the Continental Congress that if he could have only thirty-nine lashes inflicted for an ordinary offense discipline could never be enforced. He must have won his point, for in extreme cases he ordered two hundred lashes. Historians call this action his prize boner, and blame it for the desertions from the Continental army.

Today there would be a summary court-martial for this.

And now we come to the headlined scandal of his tenure of the Presidency. Washington's Secretary of the Treasury was Alexander Hamilton, who had brains in a big way. He knew that most of the Constitution makers and members of the later government were engaged in land speculation, money lending, or speculation in Continental paper currency scrip. This paper was about as worthless as stage money. And yet it became Washington's Teapot Dome.

Hamilton got the bright idea of making it worth a hundred cents on the dollar: both the forty millions owed by the Continental government, and the twenty millions owed by the states. At once agents were sent hotfoot to the remotest parts of the country, to grab up all the outstanding scrip at as little on the dollar as they could get it for, before news of the proposed law got around.

Madison, of Virginia, had another idea: By all means redeem the money at par; but pay the money to the people the scrip was originally paid to, who more than deserve it. If they have sold it, pay the purchaser just what it cost him, and give the balance to the original holder.

Of course this was utterly fair; but business is business, and government was and is business. The speculators set up such a howl that Hamilton had to do something.

He did. Virginia's delegation wanted the new national capital to be placed within their state. Shrewd Hamilton pulled a long face and said that, if his little money scheme didn't go through, he was very sorry, but the capital would have to be stuck up in Maine or some other frozen clime. Whereas, if Madison and the rest would only play cricket ...

Virginia saw the light, and got the capital. The scrip buyers got everything else: about forty millions in profit on this one transaction. That was a lot of money then; I could use most of it even today. There was a tremendous explosion about this. Historians today definitely call the whole business a swindle. Today there might be impeachment proceedings started — although they would probably get lost in the shuffle.

But the Father of His Country, living today as he did then, would collide with lots of other laws. He owned slaves. He owned forty-nine when he married, all bought out of his own earnings. His wife brought him three hundred more. Throughout his adult life Washington both bought and sold slaves. In theory he disapproved of slavery; but it was good business. When his slaves ran away, he paid rewards for their capture and return.

The Virginia law today prescribes three to ten years in the penitentiary for each such offense; the federal law is as strict.

Washington bought white "indented servants," or white persons enslaved for a limited term of years, as well; he bought ten of these, for instance, in 1774. The judge of today would give him a cheerful little earful of sentences for this, with a free lecture on the laws against peonage.

On one occasion the President took a number of his slaves into free Pennsylvania, to act as servants at the Presidential mansion in Philadelphia. And then he found out that this legally freed the slaves. Did he turn them loose? Hardly. He directed his secretary to smuggle them back into Virginia so fast and so quietly that nobody could guess what was intended until they were adequately enslaved again. This amounted to kidnaping free persons into slavery, and would add ...

And now we come to the horde of beneficent laws inspired in the noble crusade generaled by St. Volstead. Washington was one of the best distillers of his time. When he headed the Potomac Canal Company, just after the Revolution, he obtained the concession to distill rum and sell it to the workmen at forty-eight cents a gallon. When he traveled into backwoods sections of distant states, he carried a good stock of Madeira, port, cherry bounce, and other joy waters with him. At Mount Vernon he ran a prosperous distillery.

The year after his last term as President had ended, the net profits from this were more than four hundred dollars, plus a surplus stock on hand of almost eight hundred gallons of hard liquor; and couldn't federal agents use that today!

Well, now, call in the revenuers. No tax paid for distilling spirits or for rectifying them. No depositing of the spirits in bonded warehouses. And all for use as beverages, which flatly violates the Volstead commandment. Even the possession of liquor, today, by federal enactment is solemnly declared to establish an unlawful purpose. A fine of not more than a thousand dollars, or imprisonment not exceeding six months, for a first offense; for the second and subsequent offenses, a fine not over two thousand, plus compulsory imprisonment up to five years....

How long could Washington keep out of jail if he were alive today and acted as he did when alive?

Not five minutes.

And, once in, it is doubtful if he could even be pardoned short of a thousand years after his death.

Washington loved to attend the theater. One of his own actions caused the Continental Congress to enact that "any person, holding an office under the United States, who shall attend a theatrical performance, shall be dismissed from the service."

At least that amazing law is not in force today. But the laws passed since! A warning, or more, for indecent exposure. Fine or jail sentence as a common gambler, for cockfighting, for hunting out of season, and other minor offenses. A long jail term for furnishing liquor to voters. Heavy penalties for defying the national currency laws and the laws concerning the public domain. Danger of a court-martial for the insistent use of flogging on common soldiers, and possibility of impeachment proceedings for many shrewd selfish activities of his official family, which turned a just financial proposition into a swindle.

Mounting jail sentences for offenses connected with slavery and peonage, and with the distilling, sale, and transportation of alcoholic liquors.

This would be his jail record today.

And getting into jail he wouldn't like a bit. The third degree had not been invented in his time, remember. Brought into the court, the judge would express astonishment at the prisoner's appearance.

"Aw, judge," the policeman would explain glibly, "he fall down an' bump his bean."

The prisoner would already have learned that it would be unwise to dispute this.

Ah, but once in jail he would think he was in paradise! The modern jail. Washington would find out, aims constantly to better the service at the Ritz.

Once in jail today, Washington would no doubt refuse to leave it, even if a pardon were offered to him. Here would be an end of his troubles at last!

He would face some of the laws that had sent him up with a sad shake of his head.

Trouble over bathing without clothes on — over liquor, which every gentleman had to have! Well, the world hadn't got any better; of that he would be certain.

In 1952, would he still be subject to these absurd laws? Or to absurder ones?

What's your guess?

Publication Date: February 20, 1932