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The Indy Issue from Friday March 12, 2021



Visions of the Development of Salem

By Kevin Zorn

An oil on canvas mural is displayed in the post office in Salem, West Virginia. It was painted by an artist named Berni Glasgow and its production was funded
through the Treasury Department’s Section of Painting and Sculpture. It is titled “Visions of the Development of Salem” and depicts a group of people
receiving mail, in the background is a village and cattle.


Berni Glasgow was one of more than 800 artists commissioned to paint 1371 murals, the majority of which are featured in post offices.
Often mistaken as a Works Progress Administration (WPA) initiative, these Treasury funded murals were created with the intent of fostering i
nspiration in the American people who were still feeling the devastating economic and social effects of the Great Depression.


It is a testament to the shift in the ideological landscape today that I cannot believe the US Government, in tandem with local governments,
was capable of doing what the WPA accomplished. Yet, here are just some of the facts: from 1935 to 1943 8.5 million unemployed men and
women were hired by the government to build over 10,000 bridges, 620,000 miles of streets and roads, 40,000 new and 85,000 renovated
buildings including thousands of schools, gymnasiums, auditoriums, playgrounds, parks, libraries, college dormitories, tennis courts, and skating rinks.


The WPA employed artists, writers, historians, and musicians whose work directly affected the lives of millions of Americans during some of the
country’s most painful years. Musicians hired under the Federal Music Project taught free lessons to 132,000 children and adults every week.
Those hired in the Federal Writers’ Project, in addition to their popular state tourism guidebooks, recorded over 2,300 slave narratives -
an invaluable collection for scholars and historians. Under the Federal Theatre Project 1,000 plays were performed across the country every month.
Incalculable is the number of children and adults inspired by this work.


Through the colossal endeavors of the WPA in both its pre-war effort and its public projects America achieved full employment by 1942,
the same year “Visions” was painted in Salem.


It is clear that the America many of us grew up in, the structures that supported our lives, the parks we enjoyed, the schools we attended,
the infrastructure we relied upon for travel, even the art classes that inspired the next generation of creators was largely built under the
auspices of the WPA and the New Deal.


This is a salient reminder that capital “H” History is not simply a collection of memorized facts and figures, dates and obscure names.
No, History is alive in the communities in which we live. It not only teaches us, it haunts us as well. It haunts us with what was
possible before and what is possible tomorrow.


Perhaps that is the greatest battle waged in the spectacle of media and politics today - the question of what is possible.
Our expectations are managed lower and lower. We learn that the climate crisis is inevitable, that homelesness is natural,
that workers are essential until they ask for a living wage. All to say that change is impossible. Visions of better futures recede from view.

But history haunts us with an alternative. By the time Berni Glasgow painted the mural in the Salem post office, the American
government had provided millions of meaningful jobs improving, with concrete and paintbrushes, nearly every community across the nation.


Nick Taylor, the author of “American Made: The Enduring Legacy of the WPA”, writes this: 


“These ordinary men and women proved to be extraordinary beyond all expectation.
They were golden threads woven in the national fabric. In this, they shamed the political philosophy
that discounted their value and rewarded the one that placed its faith in them,
thus fulfilling the founding vision of a government by and for its people. All its people.” 


This weeks front page:



This letter was written by a native West Virginian, Arlen Richard Baldridge, to his mother, Helen, in 1943. Baldridge trained to become a fighter pilot in WWII at an airbase in Massachusetts for several weeks. In this letter he explains to his mother a near death experience with the levity you may expect from a pilot in training. Baldridge later graduated from the training school and flew several missions overseas. In 1944 he was captured and killed after his plane crashed in Germany. A poem written to him by his father contains the following verses:

“Upon my porch I sit at night

At the end of day,

While you fly among the stars

Along the Milky Way.”

Westover Field

MassachusettsMay 5, 1943

Dear Mom,

You must forgive me for not writing but you know how busy I have been. We have enough planes now so that each of us will probably be given our personal plane and it takes time to care for them. Maybe I will be able to fly home one of these day but don't count on it because gasoline is extremely scarce.

Quite a bit has happened since I last wrote and as far as my own personal safety is concerned the closest call came today.

My engine cut out at a low altitude and I was unable to keep it running. As a result I was forced to bail out just before the plane exploded. I got out OK except for a few minor cuts on my face. I consider myself lucky because a fellow bailed out a few days ago, and is not expected to live. I certainly am glad I have developed that don't give a darn attitude or I would probably be scared to death.

Anyway, I am now eligible for the caterpiller club, made up of people who have jumped out of planes.

How are conditions at home and how is Grandma Baldridge? Both well I hope. Spring is just around the corner, and the days are lovely and warm. This is the most beautiful country I have ever seen.

I wish all of you could come up this summer and spend a week or so. You would love it. Our training is getting down to a fine point now and if the gasoline shortage keeps up it may be cut short. The shorter the better because I can't wait to get into combat. I'd better close now and get some rest. We get up at 4:30. Write soon.

Love, Dick”