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Two armies. One flag. No honor.The most shocking day in American history.
Former political journalist Glen Craney brings to life the little-known story of the Bonus March of 1932, which culminates in a bloody clash between homeless World War I veterans and U.S. Army regulars on the streets of Washington, D.C.
Mired in the Great Depression and on the brink of revolution, the nation holds its collective breath as a rail-riding hobo named Walter Waters leads 40,000 destitute men and their families to the steps of the U.S. Capitol on a desperate quest for economic justice.
This timely epic evokes the historical novels of Jeff Sharra as it sweeps across three decades following eight Americans who survive the fighting in France and come together fourteen years later to determine the fate of a country threatened by communism and fascism.
From the Boxer Rebellion in China to the Plain of West Point, from the persecution of conscientious objectors to the horrors of the Marne, from the Hoovervilles of the heartland to the pitiful Anacostia encampment, here is an unforgettable portrayal of the political intrigue and government betrayal that ignited the only violent conflict between two American armies.
Awards:
Foreword
Magazine Book-of-the-Year Finalist
Chaucer Award Book-of-the-Year Finalist
indieBRAG Medallion Honoree
Praise for The Yanks are Starving:
"[A]
wonderful source of historical fact wrapped in a compelling novel." --
Historical Novel Society Reviews
"[A] vivid picture of not only men being deprived of their veterans' rights, but of their human rights as well.…Craney performs a valuable service by chronicling it in this admirable book." — Military Writers Society of America
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EXCERPT
The lieutenant sighed at the vast and varied lunacies produced by the human race. He told the other recruits, “Commander Waters here is going tell us how he fought in the Great War of His Imagination.” Then, he asked the man, “Who’d you square off against? Hannibal or Napoleon?”
One of the recruits yelled out, “General McClellan?”
Waters spun on the lippy Okie. “There’s only one Mac, da-da-damn it! And you know who he is!”
Motioning the recruits to silence, the lieutenant shammed an interest. “You fought MacArthur. You fight for the Germans, did you, Herr Dubya-Dubya?”
The veteran’s eyes filmed over, and he turned a woebegone gaze toward the railroad tracks in the distance. “Nah, I led the best American army that ever took the field. Worst thing about this c-c-country is it ain’t got no memory for the important things that happen to it.”
Baffled by the cryptic lament, the lieutenant glanced across the field and saw several drill squads looking over to see what all the commotion was about. He decided he’d better cut this little charade short before word started spreading downwind that he had lost control of his station. “Listen, Mr. Waters, or whoever you are. I’m going to have to order you to run along now. Or I’ll have to call the mental hospital in town and—”
“I’ll prove it.”
The lieutenant, now really annoyed, set his hands on his hips. “You’re going to prove to me that you fought General Douglas MacArthur with an American army? How exactly do you plan to do that?”
Waters puffed out his sunken consumptive chest to display two threaded military ribbons pinned to his breast pocket. “If I demonstrate my bona fides on the matter, will you let me t-t-take the oath?”
His first plan having backfired, the lieutenant reluctantly decided that letting the man blather his two cents’ worth was probably the only way to get rid of him now. “You got five minutes before lunch call. Make it fast.”
The other recruits moaned, forced to stay out in the cold even longer now.
The sniggering ensign piled more logs onto the fire in the oil drum.
Waters commandeered the chair behind the desk and placed it in front of the fire. Flicking away the butt of his last Lucky Strike coffin nail, he sat down and reached into his pocket for a plug of tobacco. He stuffed the chaw into his cheek and, satisfied at last with his preparations, waved the recruits forward. “Come on closer, maggots. I ain’t g-g-gonna strip the gears in my throat educating your ignorance.”
As the grousing recruits stepped in around him, Waters began singing the tune that had always helped calm the hitch in his words, an old big-band number by that top-hatted medicine man of jazz, Ted Lewis:
“There’s a new day coming,
As sure as you’re born,
A new day coming,
Start tootin’ your horn,
The cobbler’ll shoe, the baker’ll bake,
When the brewer brews, folks,
We’ll all get a break.
There’s a new day coming,
Coming soon.”
Glen Craney
Glen
Craney is an author, screenwriter, journalist, and lawyer. A graduate of
Indiana University Law School and Columbia University Graduate School of
Journalism, he is the recipient of the Nicholl Fellowship Prize from the
Academy of Motion Pictures and the Chaucer and Laramie First-Place Awards for
historical fiction. He is also a four-time indieBRAG Medallion winner, a
Military Writers Society of America Gold Medalist, a four-time Foreword
Magazine Book-of-the-Year Award Finalist, and an Historical Novel Society Reviews
Editor's Choice honoree. He lives in Malibu and has served as the president of
the Southern California Chapter of the HNS.
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