Forgotten History

Aug 10, 2024

Ever hear the story of the small, rural priest who took on the President of the United States? It’s said that the power of propaganda lies not only in what it reports but also in what it excludes. Is so, Father Coughlin would be a prime example.

Hardly anyone knows of a priest in a small parish in Royal Oak of Metro Detroit. Through money made through clever use of new technology, the aspirational priest built one of the most unique churches in the country, The Shrine of the Little Flower. It’s a rare construction based on the sleek but short-lived art deco movement, with a limestone tower with an impressive statue of Christ crucified built along a unique octagonal Church of smooth concrete, its interior entrance protected by brass gates, its altar is protected from above by archangels watching over it. The architecture was a testament of the old meeting the new, a respect for the past while awaiting at the future that could only be the product of a great man of vision. He started as a simple priest in the 1920s, using a new medium called radio to give Sunday School lessons to local children. As he found his voice, his power grew, as he became one of the most influential people in the country, becoming a thorn on the side of Franklin Roosevelt himself. Only after the full power of the Federal Government fell upon him was he brought to heel. The story of the Radio Priest, Father Coughlin, shows the persuasive power of a single man, how systems of power would betray their own stated principles to silence him, and how fighting in the political arena almost cost him his soul.

Today, the diocese is embarrassed that the man was ever a priest. The Shrine of the Little Flower’s website gives a brief history, but generally keeps its distance from its founder. If you talked to any of the parishioners, they would either only vaguely know the story of the man, or would shake their head and not want to talk about it. To this day, when the man’s legacy is not swept under the rug, his career is vilified.

A year ago, PBS introduced an eight-part series titled: Radioactive: The Father Coughlin Story as part of its Exploring Hate,  Antisemitism, Racism, and Extremism series. Balanced stuff. Books on Coughlin specify him as The Father of Hate Radio. The narrative is similar, that an angry, hate filled antisemitic priest who was likely a crypto-nazi filled the airwaves full of crazy, irrational polemics that put the Jewish community at risk and threatened national security. The question of how an unhinged madman could garner the attention of almost a quarter of the U.S. population and have the unwavering support of his diocese as late as 1935 is never discussed. It’s never discussed how he was pro-nazi, or hate filled. Tell me if you’ve heard something like this before.

That Charles Coughlin became a priest would come to no surprise to those who knew him in his youth. His mother made it her mission in life to ensure her son became a priest, and raised her in a pious and mildly smothering household that young Charles rebelled against lightly in his youth, though never losing his love and affection for his mother. He was a brash and ambitious man in his youth, but had no strong family connections to the levers of power, and lived in a working-class area of Hamilton, Ontario town. There were, however, hints of his skills early on, and in seminary became known as a powerful speaker. He grew so respected in his time there his then Bishop chose him to make the Easter homily, a rare occurrence fir q seminarian. After his ordination, he moved to Detroit under the jurisdiction of Bishop Galagher, who would be a faithful ally until the Bishop’s death caused his veil of protection to be undone. The Diocese placed him as pastor to a backwoods part of Detroit at the time, Royal Oak. Needing a new Church and the relative poverty of the Catholic community there made it necessary to consider creative ways to gain funding. Father Coughlin, stuck outside any sort of environment that could enable him to talk to a mass of people, was told to consider a new technology making its way into American households, technology that not only would allow communication with his parish, but anywhere in the United States.  Radio. After a cross burning by the local KKK against the Catholic population led Coughlin in a rage, he paid for radio time and began transmitting his Sunday sermons.

The first few years saw very little in terms of politics, but his exemplary control of language and emotion brought life and vigor to what a typical church sermon, the priest speaking with an ardor and passion that amassed a large following, Catholic and non-Catholic alike.

Come with me to Pilate’s Hall. It is the eve of the Crucifixion. There are gathered those who hated Jesus Christ because He had driven some of them from the holy temple of God as they were in the act of deseciating it with their bargains and sales. There are others who detested Him because of His condemnation of that type of person whose only philosophy of morality was to make clean the outside of the cup and hide its contents beneath the cover of hypocrisy. Then, there were those few who remembered the parable of the Good Samaritan; or others who execrated Him because of His friendship for the outcast Magdalen.

His powerful voice gave his colorful and relatable prose an aura of authority that captivated his audience, the uniqueness of the new medium made households think they were under something revolutionary, and he soon found himself practically drowning in donations to his little parish. Soon, a free letters coming into his mailbox turned to dozens, which turned into hundreds, many of which included donations. His sermons for the first two years remained largely non-political, but this changed as America entered The Great Depression.

As depression hit the entire nation, agitating forces hunkering for communist revolution filled the public consciousness. A virulent anti-communist, some of his sermons attacked the ugly specter of the ideology that permeated the ranks of government and the working class. He railed against the Soviet Union, decrying the idea that children belong to the State and not the children, and feared the ideological menace would spread. He also railed against Prohibition, blaming the movement for unleashing organized crime and causing social instability.

As he became more political, radio stations got nervous. Regulations regarding radio were sketchy at best, and the fledgling stations were ambivalent about angering the Federal Government. Coughlin took advantage of this, and for one of his broadcasts exclaimed he could not give his scheduled sermon, and would instead talk about censorship. The attack worked, and CBS was flooded with complaints from his listeners. CBS held firm to its policy of refusing to run sermons it deemed “inflammatory”, but it didn’t matter, as Coughlin started buying slots in a multitude of radio stations, his influence and voice now beginning the reach the far reaches of the country with his “Golden Hour of the Little Flower”.

As he reaches higher and higher heights of popularity, he built rapport and alliances with prominent politicians from around the country, who were piqued by his influence but still wary, thinking him a loose cannon. This culminated with a visit with a once ally who would destroy him, Franklin D. Roosevelt.

The visit with FDR transformed Coughlin’s understanding of his place in the world, and nearly overnight he went from a preacher giving general attacks against the ills of society to a full-on demagogue for the Democratic party. He would exclaim in his radio hour how it was “Roosevelt or Bust”, the election being an existential referendum whether there would be a country at all. While Coughlin showed enthusiasm, FDR did not return the favor. He thought Coughlin was dangerous and rightly understood how quickly such a figure could turn into a thorn in his side. While Coughlin thought they were good friends, the level of communication made many in his administration consider him a pest.

When FDR won, Coughlin turned his attention to specific policy to bring to heel the institutions he felt most responsible for the economic crisis, The Banking System. He demanded aggressive inflationary policy to get the country out of the depression, decrying the bankers who hoarded their money and impoverished everyone. He demanded they break off from the gold standard as fast as possible. The Roosevelt administration largely did what Coughlin demanded, but the depression did not end, and it was clear other actions needed to be taken.

He urged more radical reform, demanding the federal government take control from the private bankers. He demanded abolishing the Federal Reserve and bringing money-printing back into congress. As his demands grew, so did the disconnect with the administration, who was not willing to execute the radical ideas Coughlin had. This was compounded by the fact Coughlin made himself sound like he was the voice of the Roosevelt Administration, leading to frustration from his policy men.

Coughlin didn’t have to look far for villains either. When banking failures swept the local banks, he led blistering attacks of banks within driving distance during his radio show. Dishing out such rhetoric with such powerful leaders would promulgate a reaction, and react they did. They made ruthless counterattacks, accusing Coughlin of being irresponsible with money, a liar, and cheating on taxes. Coughlin rousing the general population had its intended effect, as a federal investigation was opened against the Detroit banks, leading to a circus of media frenzy, and gaining Coughlin even more national prominence.

As his national prominence accelerated, his abilities as a local pastor dwindled. While still doing the standard masses, he would have “forums” in his Church, attended by hundreds, in which he would constantly be interrupted with secretaries telling him a Governor was on the phone, and would sheepishly, but not really, recuse himself. He relished his assumed importance, and it showed in every aspect of his life.

Through his rise to fame, the church outside of the Diocese of Detroit was ambivalent about the rise of Coughlin. Many thought that, while there were social encyclicals such as “Rerum Vovarum” and “Quadragesimo Anno” that lamented many of the same social ills Coughlin preached, the embrace of partisan politics was unfitting a priest. In the Diocese though, he had the full, unconditional support of Bishop Gallagher.

While there was controversy about the priest, the one man who could shut him down stood firm. Even the Vatican stepped in, urging Coughlin to retract some of his more vicious statements. Overall, though, the Church hierarchy largely left him alone. The Catholic intelligentsia was divided on his work, the more radical elements expressing how railing against unrestrained capitalism was in line with Church teaching. Regardless if they liked or hated him, no one considered him a true intellectual figure.

Coughlin was losing other allies, including a full break with Roosevelt himself. The friendly relations between Coughlin and Roosevelt would only last a couple of years as he grew irritated at the Roosevelt administration’s reluctance for far more radical action. He criticized New Deal reforms, urging Roosevelt to do everything he needed to do. He lamented the poor reputation of many of the administration’s programs, and he went from cheerleader to frustrated critic. Coughlin, who thought he had the ear and influence in the administration, realized he was just a tool to rally public support.

Angered from his lack of success, he tried something new. He created The National Union for Social Justice, with his intent to create a country-wide network of activists. His plan was to create a mass voting block, functioning like a third party, that could throw its weight around and force concessions. As lobbying and preaching fell on deaf ears in Washington, he decided a mob under his control would give his ideas the attention they deserve.

The first test was when congress planned on ratifying the World Court, which Coughlin vehemently was against, rallying against the scourge of internationalism. He gave one of his most impassioned speeches yet, and the phone lines in Washington were ringing off the hook. Public pressure bullied many congressmen to change their votes, and the measure was defeated. Coughlin, inflated by his victory, thought Washington would be forced to listen again. Instead of kowtowing to Coughlin, it further isolated him from the levers of power. While he had one victory, Roosevelt’s administration got revenge by reviving a bill regarding the silver standard Coughlin advocated, and let it get crushed in Congress. More politicians ignored his calls, seeing his demands as too unstable to maintain a credible alliance. The necessity of the National Union became more and more necessary. A new election was looming, and Coughlin had ideas.

As the new presidential election came nearer, Coughlin began a massive speaking tour across the country, getting crowds in the tens of thousands, even overflowing Madison Square Gardens in New York. He planned to enlist a massive swath of people into the National Union, then throw their weight around to vote to get their people in. He insisted he would not run the union, but in reality, his hands were involved the entire time.

The tour could not have been more successful. In a short time, Coughlin bragged about having over 8 million members. With such numbers, Coughlin dreamed big. He could be more than an influence of the two-party system, but a viable third party that could upend Washington D.C. As the multitude of third parties through the ages could tell you, easier said than done.

Coughlin, wanting to maintain control, refused to allow any formal political hierarchy, even at the local level. The structure was essentially a mailing list at Coughlin’s disposal. This didn’t stop people from organizing, and, like many dissident movements, had plenty of loons in its ranks. His refusal to build a structure made the mission chaotic, as many cities made their own unauthorized chapters, often filled with unsavory characters. While the membership was large, he found himself unable to create a unified political front.

As time passed, so did enthusiasm, as the original activist spark was dissipating. The lack of strong management led many to be confused about any of the stances of the National Front they could take action on. It might be strange how an organization can go from frenzied support to a cool reception within a year, but frenzied, riling speeches can’t replace effective organization, as he would soon learn the hard way.

Even with the waning support, Coughlin recklessly went forward with his unwavering support for a hand-picked dark horse candidate for president, William Lemke. A massive conference was planned to get necessary support, but poor planning and lack of enthusiasm made turnout far worse than expected. Even worse, the choice of speakers came across as schizophrenic, with one speaker praising the Roosevelt Presidency to uproarious applause and the next speaker would excoriate Roosevelt… to uproarious applause.

Worse for Coughlin, he was being upstaged by his own people. Coughlin was to be keynote speaker for the conference, but the man before him already roused the crowd to a fever pitch and Coughlin felt the need to go full pedal-to-the-metal. He blasted Roosevelt as a traitor and shouted with such venom and energy at the confused crowd he came across as unhinged. For his finale, he took his priest’s collar and tore it off.

This was too much even for Bishop Gallagher, who made him recant his actions. His failure took its toll, as it became clear he was heading for disaster. Earlier he promised he would stop doing radio shows if his man was not elected, and nothing but a miracle would seal his fate. A miracle did not come to Coughlin, and Roosevelt waltzed into an easy victory, Coughlin’s candidate Lemke getting an embarrassing million out of 45 million votes, and he retired from radio…. for a time.

With the death of Gallagher, he came back to the radio. He would never reach the same popularity, and while he had a large following, they were increasingly fringe actors and cranks. His periodical, Social Justice, was always far harsher in its rhetoric than his radio addresses, made itself a target of scorn with publishing The Protocols of the Elders of Zion. As war footing entered in 1939 with Great Britain entering World War 2, his neutrality stance and calls against internationalism made radio broadcasters nervous. As war became inevitable, more and more radio stations, worried about the increasing venom from the priest as well as fearing the wrath of the government who was on full war footing, dropped the priest’s broadcasts. As the airwaves turned off, he still kept his periodical running. His influence waned to a small cadre of core supporters, but the Roosevelt Administration, taking advantage of the Pearl Harbor attack, worked to silence him for good. Social Justice was considered treasonous to the war effort, and the US Postal Service denied mailing his newsletter. Every avenue to communicate with the outside world was stymied.

As a final measure, the Roosevelt Administration pressured the Diocese to take care of the priest for good. Bishop Mooney summoned Coughlin to a private meeting, and Coughlin went back to his home parish, defeated, and became a simple parish priest again. He stayed quiet about the war to its conclusion, and the most political commentary he preached were against communism during The Cold War. Otherwise, after being a household name for nearly a decade, he became forgotten by the general population.

At its core, Coughlin wanted the working classes to feel like they had control of their lives. As the depression impoverished so many, and the arm of the so-called free market turned regular joe’s into wage slaves, destroying the small businesses that once held communities together in favor of a massive and impersonal economic model. He saw mom and pop stores replaced with massive chains, and family businesses bought out by large conglomerates. He saw the decentralization of wealth as critical to ensuring the common man could live a good life. His radical ideas were meant to bring power, autonomy, and dignity to the downtrodden. As ego-centric, aggressive, and ill advised as he was, what underlined his thought was sympathy toward the common man, and his belief that it was his destiny to force far-away Washington D.C. to acknowledge them.

While not a fascist, he saw Hitler’s regime as far less corrosive to the American way of life than the Soviet Union, and the fact the United States took the side of the Soviets over the Nazi’s didn’t dissuade his opinion.

Overall though, while it is a tragedy the machinations the government used to silence a dissident voice, the conclusion was the best for the priest’s soul. It is not a priest’s charism to be so public in boiling rhetoric in a profession that is supposed to be reserved, calm, and a steady head looking over a flock. His obsession with getting attention, with being a great man, and his lack of focus and discipline did him great spiritual harm. While maybe a tragedy for the nation, his silence was a blessing to his own life, and allowed him to get things in order for the most important thing of all, the next life.

For those who want to learn more about Father Coughlin, I can’t recommend Voices of Protest by Alan Brinkley enough for its balanced historical accuracy on this time in American