Chapter 132
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 132
Chapter Title: The Fall of the Giant (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
March 4, 1925.
President Harding's second term had just begun.
And not even a week later, Harding drew his final breath.
According to the flood of articles that poured out after his death, Harding had been complaining of fatigue and health issues for years already. But he'd had to crisscross the country for election campaigns, and speculation ran rife that this had played a major role in his demise.
In the midst of this bewildering presidential passing, the one who benefited most—Vice President Calvin Coolidge—ascended to become the new President of the United States.
"Talk about having the devil's own luck."
"Who could've guessed a guy would drop dead just like that?"
Curtis let out a hollow laugh, as if he couldn't quite believe it.
"In D.C., all those politicians clawing desperately for a shot at the presidency... and here one just strolls in like he's picking up bread from the bakery."
"Why didn't you run for VP yourself, then?"
"You nuts? Why the hell would I want that?"
That thing. That damn thing.
Truth be told, the vice presidency was exactly that. In my eyes, it was basically a human totem pole.
No real spiritual energy to it whatsoever. Even Woodrow Wilson's VP had been sidelined. And honestly, there wasn't much for the VP to do with the president anyway—that's why they get sidelined.
So for a seasoned power player like Senator Curtis, the vice presidency must've seemed utterly laughable.
Especially after he'd bet big on Harding in the last election and hit the jackpot, thanks to his father-in-law.
He'd pushed through the bill granting U.S. citizenship to Native Americans—aka Indians—and racked up solid achievements on US MILK matters too. And at my earnest pleading, he'd even thrown his weight around a bit on immigration law.
"I was planning to throw my hat in for the next election, but things just got complicated."
"How so?"
"If Coolidge isn't a total incompetent, he'll run the country well for four years and then leverage the incumbent advantage for a sure reelection bid. Beating a reelection-seeking president is no easy feat."
Hate the guy or not, people love giving a good one another term. Someone who's done well? Forget about it.
"Guess we'll have to watch and wait another four years."
"Sir... do you really have to become president?"
"You've been saying some weird stuff lately. This isn't just about power lust. We need to set a precedent—a person of color in the White House."
His resolve was like steel.
Damn it, I had to talk him out of it, but how?
If he kept on this path, it'd lead straight to the Great Depression. He'd be done for! No, worse—etched into history as a failure.
What the hell was I supposed to do?
There was still plenty of time left, but my head was already throbbing.
The Harding-Coolidge era of the 1920s.
The economy boomed wildly, and people threw themselves into a frenzy of spending without a second thought.
Head to the suburbs with General Motors! Get the car now—pay over 3 years!
Smith, that lifelong bachelor rotting away alone!
'Must be a sewer in your mouth.'
Change your fate with Listerine—right now!
Time for women to light the torch of freedom—light up a cigarette today!
"Doctor, I want to live to 100."
"Then smoke Camels, kid."
If you asked me—neither an economist nor anything close—why the Great Depression happened or how to stop it, I'd just choose death.
But one thing was crystal clear... all the signs felt eerily familiar.
By the time I wrapped up my Asian world tour and got back, something bordering on madness had swept across America in those few years I'd been gone.
A thriving economy is great, sure.
Spending is a virtue; saving is for suckers. Hoard cash? Why? Got pocket money? Buy stocks, you fool.
The American Dream is the story of success. Salesmen and business are America itself. Anything blocking enterprise or promotion is a sin.
That was the chatter everywhere—from newspaper pages to cigar-chomping gentlemen.
The more people I met, the thicker my unease grew.
And when I finally sat down with Edsel Ford, that shapeless anxiety hit its peak.
"Jin, you bastard—long time no see since Japan."
"How was Joseon? You know I can't set foot on Korean soil myself."
"A Korean who can't go to Korea. What a shame... Tell me all about it instead."
We chatted for a good while before the conversation turned to our skyrocketing rival, GM.
"It sounds hilarious coming from me, but my old man's... pretty old-school."
"Henry Ford, old-school? Even a stray dog would laugh."
"Ha! The dog might be smarter. Last election, out of nowhere, the whole country went nuts yelling 'President Henry Ford!' The same pricks who mocked Dad during that Chicago Tribune lawsuit suddenly kissing his ass like crazy—what's that make them better than dogs?"
He vented a bit, sighed, then steered us back on topic.
"You know that 'Mustang' we brainstormed together? It's selling like hotcakes. But GM's come out with a new weapon and they're devouring the market."
"New weapon? They launch a new model?"
"Not a model. A new sales tactic. Installment plans—you get the car upfront, then pay monthly principal plus interest."
Edsel kindly explained this revolutionary installment scheme for my benefit, but come on, did he think I didn't know? Koreans were born paying off credit card debt the second payday hit.
"Dad says hell no over his dead body. He blew up, yelling what if those people all go bust?"
"He's got a point."
"Point, my ass! In this boom, what's gonna go bust?"
No.
It's gonna crash hard.
Crash so bad everything turns to dust.
"Sticking to that outdated layaway system's got frontline dealers whining nonstop in my ear. Hell, they're already teaming up with finance companies on their own for installments.
You're lucky in that regard—no one's buying card packs on layaway."
Layaway was pretty standard back then.
Take Ford: Sign for a Model T, mail in fixed payments weekly.
Can't tell the difference? You don't get the car till it's paid off 100%. Some outfits even charged storage fees until full payment.
Those fees weren't much different from installment interest, but the gap between getting the car now or way later? Even a wizard like Edsel Ford couldn't bridge it.
"Edsel."
"Yeah, I get it. You're in a... conservative spot. But if we don't push aggressively now, we're screwed!"
"Listen. I'm so sure the economy tanks in five years I'd bet my entire fortune on it."
My bombshell left him opening and closing his mouth.
Only after a long pause did he collect his thoughts.
"What's your reasoning?"
"Just a gut feeling."
"Gut that couldn't predict an earthquake, huh."
"Doesn't it strike you as off? This prosperity feels endless? I was out of the country for years, and this vibe... it's not right. Not normal."
"Sounds like church busybodies. Those guys open their mouths and it's all 'Sodom and Gomorrah's getting divine wrath.' You join some weird cult?"
I wasn't devout or a fundamentalist, but honestly? America right now deserved the Sodom and Gomorrah label.
"Petting parties all the rage? Hell, they deserve a smackdown. I saw an invite and had to check the dictionary for new slang!"
"Look at this uptight soldier boy. Not usually the pious type, now playing grandpa... Then again, you've always been the devoted hubby type?"
"Forget me— if Dorothy went to one, I'd bite my tongue and die. With Henry and Alice right there at home, those bastards sneaking off to grope and slobber? Over my dead body—"
"Whoa, easy now."
Just thinking about it made my blood boil. Not just lunatics, but them spouting "spirit of the times" crap? Infuriating.
"Anyway, I agree with the chairman. Installments are risky. Who knows how long this boom lasts? The day the indicators flip, that sales tower built on credit comes crashing down."
"True enough. But every profit comes with risk.
Fine, no installments? Economy tanks in five years? What good's that if GM conquers the auto market first and we're already toast?!"
If even a guy like Edsel was this hooked on installments, I could gauge the situation pretty well.
The Great Depression was inevitable.
Recessions happen in capitalism, but what mutated it into an unprecedented catastrophe was American society itself.
Great war heroes or small-time hustlers peddling stickers for a buck—none could halt this tidal wave of doom.
Once I dove into my aide duties full-time, one of my first moves was checking what the other guys were up to.
Hell, intel from the Philippines was a godsend, and back home I'd been swamped hawking those card games.
Ike and James were syncing with General Fox Conner in Panama.
Conner was a familiar name to me, someone I'd met. He'd handled ops at Chaumont during the Great War—Marshall's boss, in fact. If Marshall praised him, he had to be sharp. And Drum, the Chief of Staff who'd muscled him out for real power... maybe Drum was a force too?
Omar headed to Fort Benning's Infantry School. Top-tier spot alongside Leavenworth for officer training—great for his career.
And my personal headache, that medieval berserker Patton, was off to Leavenworth. Heh, trading club swings for book cramming—bet he's fuming.
MacArthur had etched his name in history as the youngest brigadier general in the Army, and he was probably packing to head back from the Philippines by now.
His letter arrived before he'd even left.
—My friend's in a bit of a bind. If you have time, could you meet Billy Mitchell? He's hot-tempered but sharp—you two should hit it off.
The very next day, Chief of Staff Hines brought up the exact same name.
"You know Billy Mitchell?"
"Who doesn't? He's the most famous guy in Air Service."
"No personal ties?"
"None."
"Then go shut that bastard up. He's dragging the Army's reputation through the mud!"
Damn, this guy's got a thing for playing with fire.
Why the hell was he dumping this on me?