The Progressive Era | The Muckrakers | 2
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Imagine it's early morning in November 1904, and you're walking through a Chicago meatpacking plant. You try to ignore the sour, metallic stench that clings to the back of your throat. You're a writer collecting research for a novel on the struggles of immigrant workers in the city's stockyards, slaughterhouses, and packing plants. And today, you're undercover, clutching a lunch pail by your side, hoping that it'll help you blend in with the workers filing in for the day shift.

You approach one worker, sweeping scraps of raw sinew and fat into a rusted metal bucket. His hands are red and cracked from the cold, and his sweeping leaves a bloodied trail across the sawdust-covered floor. Give him a nod. Hey, good morning. He looks up sharply, his expression drawn and wary. Morning. What you doing there? You new here? I'm collecting yesterday's scraps. Oh, doesn't the late shift do clean-up? This ain't cleaning. This is for canned meat.

You glance at the bloody, stringy mess in his bucket, and your stomach churns. Those are floor scraps. Oh, you really are new. Look, the bosses don't let anything go to waste. Moldy meat, douse it with borax, and grind it into sausage. Spoiled hams? We'll dip them in chemicals to mask the smell. Every bit, every piece, every rancid drop of the stuff is gonna get used.

He goes back to his sweeping as you feel a growing revulsion. So you're sweeping all of this up for food? For human consumption? How can you stand it? What else can't I do? My wife is sick. We have a son to take care of. A new baby on the way. Our landlord is raising the rent next month. I stand it because I have to. Here's a hint. Try to breathe through your mouth. Don't get on the wrong side of the bosses.

The worker throws a glance over your shoulder, and you follow his gaze to see a stout man walking towards you with his hands stuffed in his pockets. You recognize him as one of the bosses, so you hurry off and disappear into the crowd of workers pressing in from the street. You swallow hard, trying to stifle the sick feeling in your gut. This is industry at its most gruesome, and you're intent on exposing the truth.

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In the fall of 1904, a 26-year-old writer named Upton Sinclair went undercover to investigate working conditions in Chicago's meatpacking district. He depicted the horrors he witnessed in a searing novel called The Jungle that shocked the nation and spurred Congress to action.

Sinclair was part of a new breed of investigative journalists and writers known as muckrakers. These men and women spoke truth to power to expose the cracks beneath the surface of the industrial age. Covering exploitation, corruption, and corporate malfeasance, they galvanized public support for progressive reform.

But they also clash with President Theodore Roosevelt, who wrestled with his own plans to build a more just society. In the fall of 1902, he was weighing a decision that would shatter precedent and forever change the relationship between government and labor. This is Episode 2, The Muckrakers.

In October 1902, a labor strike paralyzing the Pennsylvania coal fields entered its fifth month, and as a result, coal prices were soaring. President Theodore Roosevelt feared the high cost of fuel could spark riots in the streets and wanted to take action, but his attorney general warned him that he had no authority to intervene. Still, Roosevelt decided that he could no longer sit back. Hoping to break the deadlock, he made an unprecedented decision to summon mine owners and union officials to Washington, D.C. for a meeting.

Never before had the federal government played the role of peacemaker during a strike, though Roosevelt's predecessors had previously used force to end labor disputes. President Rutherford B. Hayes had summoned federal troops to put down a national railroad strike in 1877, and President Grover Cleveland had sent troops to Chicago to break the Pullman strike in 1894. Roosevelt himself had deployed troops against striking workers during his time as governor of New York.

But as the labor strike in Pennsylvania dragged on into the late fall of 1902, it wasn't violence among the workers he was worried about. Roosevelt feared what would happen in the crowded cities along the East Coast if Americans there were forced to endure a winter without fuel. It was his moral duty to broker a peaceful solution to avoid such a calamity. Imagine it's October 3rd, 1902, in an office across from the White House in Washington, D.C.,

You're the president of the United Mine Workers, and you're seated at a long oak table across from seven operators of the Pennsylvania anthracite coal mines. President Roosevelt sits at the head of the table and nods at you to begin. So you clear your throat and try to control your nerves. You know this could be your one and only shot to come to an agreement and get the miners you represent a fair deal. Mr. President, first, I'd like to thank you for bringing us together. I think we can all agree on the gravity of the situation today.

and I hope you know that I came here in good faith, ready to seek a fair solution. So I propose that we form a committee to settle this dispute. It would include representatives of the miners, the owners, and a neutral party. And I can promise the miners will abide by any decision this committee reaches. You have my word.

The mine operator directly facing you, a man named John Markle, makes a show of leaning back in his chair and shaking his head. Oh, a committee. Absolutely not. Do you expect us to negotiate with outlaws and anarchists? Mr. President, I don't even know why we're here. There's nothing to discuss. These striking miners have turned to violence, and they should be dealt with accordingly. As you know, 21 people have already been murdered.

The president looks at you for a response. Sir, that is nonsense. If such a baseless charge could be proven, I would resign my position at once. Yes, there has been some lawlessness, but much of it was provoked by the criminal thugs hired to guard the mines. No, no, the truth is you've lost control of your people. If you had any sense, you'd tell them just to go back to work.

Mr. President, we have no interest in wasting time negotiating with instigators of violence. And frankly, sir, you should have deployed troops long ago to force the miners back to work. I ask you today to perform the duties invested in you as President of the United States. Use the strong arm of the military and crush this anarchy.

You see Roosevelt's hands tighten on the arms of his chair. The mine owners may have just pushed their case too far, so you decide to seize the opportunity. Mr. President, I think you can see what we've been dealing with, and why so many of my fellow workers feel driven to extreme measures. These men across from me at the table today have no interest in peaceable negotiations, just dictating orders. They'll even dare to lecture the President on what you should or should not do.

Roosevelt's eyes cut angrily to the mine owners, and he barks gruffly that the meeting is adjourned. Disappointment and disgust colors Roosevelt's face as the mine operators rise from the table. Even you never expected the coal barons to be so brazen in their intransigence to rebuke the President of the United States. But if anything, their arrogance has only hardened your resolve.

Roosevelt's historic meeting between mine operators and union representatives ended in failure when the operators stubbornly refused to negotiate. Roosevelt wrote that labor leader Mitchell behaved with great dignity and moderation. The operators, on the contrary, showed extraordinary stupidity and bad temper. He found the leading operators' conduct so offensive that he admitted, "...if it wasn't for the high office I hold, I would have taken him by the seat of the breeches and the nape of the neck and chucked him out the window."

But with negotiations at an impasse, the strike dragged on, and the Pennsylvania governor ordered the entire National Guard into the region in an attempt to keep the peace. And with coal shortages forcing schools and factories to close, Roosevelt faced mounting public pressure to seize control of the mines. He arranged for the Pennsylvania governor to request Army assistance and then ordered a general to stand by and await orders. At Roosevelt's signal, he was to take control of the mines and run them in the public interest.

But Roosevelt had one last move to make before taking such drastic action, and it involved the most powerful man in American finance.

On October 11, 1902, Roosevelt hurried to New York with his Secretary of War Elihu Root, a former corporate lawyer and friend of Wall Street titan J.P. Morgan. The two men met with Morgan on his yacht on the Hudson River. It was an unlikely meeting of the minds. For the past several months, Roosevelt had been battling to break up Morgan's railroad trusts in the courts. But he believed that the banker had the power to bring the mine operators to the table.

And despite Roosevelt's assault on his railroad monopoly, Morgan agreed to help. He had his own fears about the potential chaos of a winter without fuel, and he worried that growing public resentment of the coal industry might spread to other industries under his portfolio.

So during a five-hour meeting, Roosevelt, Root, and Morgan came up with a plan to end the strike while allowing the coal operators to maintain the fiction that they were not negotiating with organized labor. The trio planned to propose that the miners return to work immediately while an independent commission investigated conditions in the mines and claims of worker mistreatment. The idea of an independent commission was virtually the same proposal that United Mine Workers President John Mitchell suggested, but now it was coming from J.P. Morgan.

And under this proposal, the coal operators and their employees would each present their sides independently to the Commission. This way, the mine operators would not have to talk to the union directly, but they would appear open to hearing their workers out.

Soon after this meeting, Morgan took the proposal to the mine operators. His influence in banking and his position on the boards of several railroads gave him leverage with the coal companies, which he used to pressure them into accepting the deal. By this point, with public hostility to the coal industry mounting, the operators cared more about the appearance of compromise than the substance of the compromise itself. But they had one caveat.

They wanted the commission to include five members, a military engineer, a mining engineer, a judge, an expert in the coal business, and a so-called eminent sociologist. But no union men. When this proposal was presented to union leader John Mitchell, he objected to this exclusion and demanded that Roosevelt expand the commission to include a labor representative. When the operators refused, an idea dawned on Roosevelt.

He suggested appointing the head of the Railway Conductors Union, not as a representative of the union, but as the imminent sociologist. To Roosevelt's amazement, the mine operators agreed to the appointment. They were ready to arbitrate, and in the end, they were less worried about the makeup of the commission than they were about not being seen as giving in to organized labor. So they were willing to accept a union man on the commission, as long as he went by a different title. In his autobiography, Roosevelt reflected,

I at last grasped the fact that the mighty brains of these captains of industry would rather have anarchy than Tweedledum, but that if I would use the word Tweedledee, they would hail it as meaning peace. To my intense relief, this utter absurdity was received with delight. With both parties finally in agreement, the miners went back to work. After 163 days, the strike was finally over, and the newly created commission began its investigations.

In March 1903, they announced their decision. The miners' workday would be reduced from 10 to 9 hours, and the owners would grant the miners a 10% increase in wages.

The owners agreed to implement these changes, but still refused to recognize the legitimacy of the union. But the miners still declared victory, and the strike represented a turning point for organized labor, and Roosevelt had set a new precedent for federal intervention in labor disputes. Rather than use troops to crush a strike, he had intervened to bring about a peaceful settlement, and he believed that he had treated both sides fairly, prioritizing the public interest above all else.

This approach fit in with what he called his square deal. He later explained, When I say I believe in a square deal, I do not mean to give every man the best hand. All I mean is that there shall be no crookedness in the dealing. During his presidency, Roosevelt applied this principle of fairness to regulating corporations, protecting consumers, and conserving natural resources. And it was Roosevelt's lifelong love of the outdoors that shaped his passion for protecting America's wilderness.

As a young man, he had lived in the West and witnessed the damage caused by the wasteful slaughter of the buffalo and the overgrazing of frontier grasslands. By the time he became president in 1901, only a quarter of America's virgin forests remained standing.

So to protect the remaining forests, Roosevelt set aside 125 million acres as federal reserves, three times more than his three predecessors combined. He also protected millions of acres of coal deposits and water resources. In 1902, he pushed Congress to pass a federal law funding irrigation projects in the West.

He would ultimately establish 150 national forests, five national parks, and several bird and game reserves, protecting some 230 million acres of public land. And over the course of his first term, Roosevelt advanced his conservationist agenda by using what he called the bully pulpit, the power of his platform to rally public support and push Congress to enact reform.

But with the 1904 election on the horizon, Roosevelt slowed his domestic reform efforts in the hope of avoiding controversy, though foreign policy was a different matter. There, he made one of his most audacious moves. Americans had long dreamed of building a canal in Panama to allow merchant ships to easily pass between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.

The canal would also make it easier for the U.S. Navy to defend new colonial possessions including Hawaii, Puerto Rico, and the Philippines. But the nation of Colombia hesitated over signing a treaty to give the U.S. control over its Panamanian territory.

So in November 1903, Roosevelt took aggressive action to back Panama's revolution against Colombia. He sent U.S. gunboats to Panama to prevent Colombia from landing troops. Panama quickly won its independence, and Roosevelt secured a treaty granting the U.S. a 10-mile-wide strip of land to build a canal. His combination of shrewd diplomacy and aggressive military action exemplified his theory of foreign relations, speak softly and carry a big stick.

Industry leaders and conservative Republicans supported the U.S. gaining control over the Canal Zone, but Roosevelt's actions divided progressives. Some saw this act of imperialism as a betrayal of American ideals and an unnecessary distraction from domestic reform. But many progressives, including Roosevelt, saw no difference between government interventions at home and abroad. They viewed imperialism as an opportunity to bring stability and progress to the world.

Progressive U.S. Senator Albert Beveridge summarized this way of thinking on the floor of the Congress when he declared, "...God has made us the master organizers of the world to establish systems where chaos reigns. We are trustees of the world's progress, guardians of its righteous peace." As for Roosevelt, wielding a big stick abroad, fit in with his idea of strong presidential leadership. In his mind, the president could take any action not explicitly forbidden by the Constitution.

But the White House was not the only theater for progressive reform. In the early 1900s, the president and Congress faced growing pressure from the press as a new wave of journalists stepped into the shadows of big business and industry, determined to expose the corporate greed and social injustice that fueled American prosperity. ♪

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In the early 1900s, a new generation of crusading journalists began to capture the nation's attention by digging up dirt on big business and government. President Theodore Roosevelt would later brand them as muckrakers, accusing them of focusing on dirt and muck rather than finding solutions.

These journalists published shocking stories of corruption in cheap, mass-market magazines including McClure's, Cosmopolitan, and Collier's, shedding light on crooked politicians, criminal police, and the exploitation of children in sweatshops, factories, and mines. And the mudslinging magazines they wrote for waged aggressive circulation wars as readers devoured accounts confirming their worst fears about modern society.

Spearheading the muckraking movement was editor Samuel McClure of McClure's magazine. He recognized the public's appetite for information on the inner workings of American institutions, and in 1901, he hired a New York City newspaper reporter named Lincoln Steffens to his staff to dig in. Steffens was initially reluctant to leave a newspaper for a magazine, but his discussions with McClure convinced him that the monthly magazine format would offer Steffens the space to tell the whole, completed story.

At McClure's, Steffens was thrilled to find himself among a group of tenacious reporters and editors. He recalled that arriving at the magazine was like springing up from a bed and diving into the lake. He described his new boss, Samuel McClure's aggressive approach, writing, He was a flower that did not sit and wait for the bees to come and take his honey. He flew forth to find and rob the bees. And McClure expected his reporters to take the same approach.

At the end of 1901, McClure approached Steffens at his desk and told him, You can't learn to edit a magazine here in the office. Get out of here. Buy a railroad ticket. Get on a train. And there, where it lands you, there you will learn to edit a magazine.

Steffens followed this advice, and in the spring of 1902, he bought a train ticket to St. Louis, Missouri, then the fourth-largest city in America whose rapid growth had made it a magnet for corruption. Steffens worked with the city's newly elected district attorney to uncover the details of how city officials accepted bribes from business leaders in exchange for favorable laws.

In the fall of 1902, Stephens published his findings in McClure's. The article was an instant success, and editor Samuel McClure decided to build an entire series around municipal corruption. Stephens traveled to another half-dozen major American cities looking for dirt, and he soon found it in Minneapolis, where he discovered that illegal gambling dens, opium houses, and unlicensed saloons paid weekly bribes to the police in exchange for their protection.

This money was then divided between the mayor, his associates, and the police captains.

Steffen's piece on Minneapolis made headlines across the country, and fellow reporters praised Steffen's for performing a public service while readers invited Steffen's to uncover corruption in their own cities. More articles followed, with titles including Pittsburgh, A City Ashamed, Philadelphia, Content and Corrupt, and Chicago, Half Free and Fighting On. And during these many investigations, Steffen's refined his interviewing technique,

By sharing small tidbits of information and implying he already knew the full story, he convinced politicians, business heavyweights, and criminals alike to reveal more than they intended. His ability to make subjects talk became legendary.

By 1904, Steffens had enough material to collect his articles into a book, The Shame of Cities. By exposing the crooked dealings and nefarious ties between big business and politics in several cities, he showed that corruption was not a local problem, but a national crisis, writing, The spirit of graft and of lawlessness is the American spirit.

And he warned that he was undermining democracy, declaring that it was literally changing the form of our government from one that is representative of the people to an oligarchy, representative of special interests.

But Steffens was not the only crusading muckraker journalist. While he investigated corruption in American cities, his colleague Ida Tarble was on a mission to uncover corruption in one of America's largest corporations. Tarble had become a Clure star writer after she wrote a series on Abraham Lincoln, which nearly doubled its circulation. But in 1902, she set her sights on the Standard Oil Company, calling it the mother of trusts. It was a topic close to home.

Tarble was born in 1857 in a log cabin in western Pennsylvania's oil region. Her father, Frank, toiled for years building oil storage tanks, but his income grew once he switched to oil production and refining. She wrote, There was ease such as we had never known, luxuries we had never heard of, but everything changed in 1871. Tarble recalled of the area she grew up in, Suddenly this gay, prosperous town received a blow between the eyes.

That blow came from a shrewd young businessman named John D. Rockefeller and his newly incorporated Standard Oil Company. Fourteen-year-old Tarble watched as Rockefeller came to town and gave her father and dozens of other small oil producers an ultimatum, sell their business or face ruin. The men who accepted buyouts became rich. Tarble's father, Frank, refused to sell, determined to remain independent.

But competing with Rockefeller proved impossible, and Frank Tarble's company suffered. When his business partner committed suicide, Frank was forced to mortgage the family home to cover his debts. Ida Tarble recalled the pain of her family's ruin, writing, "'Out of the alarm and bitterness and confusion, I gathered from my father's talk a conviction to which I still hold, that what had been undertaken was wrong.'"

So, thirty years later, Tarble resolved to expose the corrupt business practices that built Standard Oil. Her father warned her that Rockefeller would crush her, just as he had crushed their town. But Tarble was prepared to be as relentless as her subject.

She began her research by securing an interview with an executive at Standard Oil named Henry H. Rogers through his good friend, author Mark Twain. Rogers mistakenly believed Tarble was writing a flattering piece, and after meeting regularly over the course of months, Rogers and Tarble developed a warm relationship. Rogers even shared internal documents with Tarble and explained how Standard Oil took over the industry by using secret rebates.

Tarbell learned that Rockefeller had arranged for railroads to ship Standard Oil products at lower rates than his competitors, giving his company a major cost advantage.

For two years, Tarble meticulously analyzed public records, uncovering a vast amount of information on Rockefeller's rise and Standard Oil's underhanded tactics. One key breakthrough came from a Standard Oil office boy who was tasked with destroying records every night. While going about his duties, he recognized the name of his Sunday school teacher on several documents.

This teacher also happened to be a rival oil refiner, and the documents showed that railroads were warning Standard Oil about the rival refiner's shipments in advance. It was conclusive evidence that Standard Oil was colluding with railroads to snuff out the competition. The boy gave the documents to his teacher, who passed them on to Tarble. And after reviewing them, she realized she finally had hard proof confirming her suspicions about the company behind her family's ruin.

Imagine it's February 1904 in New York City. You're an executive at Standard Oil, and you're sitting across from Ida Tarble in your office at the company headquarters in Lower Manhattan. You fling an issue of McClure's down on the polished coffee table. It's open to her latest article, titled Cutting to Kill. You rise and pace in front of your desk, barely able to control your anger. Now, miss, how the hell did you get this information?

Marble sits up straight in the tufted armchair across from the coffee table, her hands neatly folded in her lap. "'You know very well I cannot reveal my sources, but you also know that everything I wrote is true. Ah, so now you decide to be a model of discretion. You've released private corporate correspondence for the world to see. Well, the public needs to know.'

You stare at her in disbelief. The documents and records that Tarble has dug up were supposed to have been buried, destroyed. Your jaw tightens. So it's your job, huh, to decide what is public and what is private? It's my job to uncover as much information as I can, especially when a business as big as yours is engaged in corporate espionage.

Now, this is absurd. I invited you into my home. I fed you at my dinner table. I answered all your questions frankly, in a spirit of honesty, and this is how you repay me? No, you lied to me. You told me that Standard Oil only engages in legitimate forms of competition. But this isn't competition. It's annihilation. I should never have trusted you. Never have brought you into my home. Well, from your point of view, I would agree. Get out. Get out.

"'Tarvel continues to lock eyes with you as she stands and smooths her skirt, then walks out the door. "'You grip the edges of your desk, your knuckles whitening. "'For the first time in your career at Standard Oil, you find yourself playing defense.'

Beginning in November 1902, McClure's published Ida Tarble's articles as a 19-part series. Standard Oil executive Henry Rogers had continued speaking to Tarble up until the February 1904 installment of the magazine. She remembered how Rogers' face went white with rage when he realized that she had unearthed proof that Standard Oil was continuing to engage in corporate espionage. He refused to speak with her again after this.

Later in 1904, Tarble's series was compiled into a book titled The History of the Standard Oil Company. Tarble wrote it in simple but dramatic prose, but her greatest skill was her ability to translate complex business maneuvers into a compelling narrative for the public. She concluded the series with a detailed character study of Rockefeller calling him money-mad, a hypocrite, and a living mummy.

She wrote, Our national life is on every side distinctly poorer, uglier, meaner for the kind of influence he exercises. Editor Samuel McClure was thrilled with his reporter's popularity with the public. He told her, People universally speak of you with such a reverence that I'm getting sort of afraid of you. Tarble's book, The History of the Standard Oil Company, became a landmark piece of investigative journalism, fueling public distrust of Standard Oil and building support for government regulation of big business.

And calls for corporate regulation would grow more insistent during President Roosevelt's second term. One month after McClure's published the final installment of Tarble's series, President Roosevelt achieved a sweeping victory in the election of 1904. He secured 336 electoral votes while the lackluster Democratic nominee, New York Judge Alton Parker, won just 140. This was the highest number of electoral votes won by any candidate to date.

So after stepping into the role in the wake of President McKinley's assassination, Theodore Roosevelt had now been elected in his own right, and he entered his second term ready to step up his demands for corporate control. But his hunger for reform would pit him against the powerful conservatives who controlled Congress and their allies in business who were determined to preserve the status quo at any cost.

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or face another eruption. Follow Against the Odds on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. Binge the entire season ad-free right now only on Wondery+. Start your free trial in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify today. On the heels of a resounding election victory, President Theodore Roosevelt proposed sweeping reforms in his annual message to Congress in December 1904.

He demanded bold new policies to restore fairness in American society, including federal oversight of labor and business, railroad safety regulations, urban renewal projects, and improved education and recreation opportunities for city children. And he encouraged immigration, saying it made no difference what country people came from as long as they were what he called the right kind of people, those capable of becoming good American citizens.

But Capitol Hill was dominated by an old guard of conservative Republicans resistant to change. They were led by the multimillionaire Senator Nelson Aldrich of Rhode Island. Aldrich's only daughter had married J.D. Rockefeller's only son, a union that epitomized the tight bonds between politics and big business. And he used his control of vast sums of corporate campaign money to force legislators to do his bidding.

In the House, Congressman Joseph Cannon, known as Uncle Joe, served as Speaker. But despite his avuncular nickname, he ruled with an iron fist to make sure that the legislative agenda remained in conservative hands.

Despite this opposition in Congress, though, President Roosevelt forged ahead with his agenda, determined to use his bully pulpit to push for reform. In 1905, he traveled the country campaigning for the regulation of railroads, then America's largest industry. For years, railroad companies have given unfair advantages in shipping rates to certain companies while hiking rates for others. Roosevelt wanted the government to end such preferential treatment and set maximum shipping rates.

Roosevelt's push for reforms coincided with a series of scandals that were splashed across the pages of magazines and newspapers. Americans read about bribery trials in California and Pennsylvania, and allegations against a U.S. senator from Texas accused of corrupt involvement in a subsidiary of Standard Oil. In New York, a young lawyer named Charles Evans Hughes uncovered shocking ties between political parties and gas and insurance companies.

Another reporter recalled, a large number of thoughtful Americans were growing increasingly anxious or indignant about the lawless conditions existing in so many walks of our life.

So with popular support for reform surging, Roosevelt's campaign for railroad regulation came to fruition in January 1906 when the House passed the Hepburn Act to empower the toothless Interstate Commerce Commission to regulate railroad shipping rates. But the bill stalled in the Senate until, in the middle of Senate debates, Cosmopolitan magazine launched a series called The Treason of the Senate.

Over the course of nine articles, best-selling novelist David G. Phillips accused the vast majority of U.S. senators of being pawns of big business. He wrote, Treason is a strong word, but not too strong to characterize the situation in which the Senate is the eager agent of interests as hostile to the American people as any invading army could be. These articles doubled cosmopolitan circulation and greatly increased American suspicion of the Senate.

But President Roosevelt was horrified by the coverage. The Hepburn Act already faced stiff opposition in the Senate, and he needed to win over senators, not alienate them. So fearing these articles might threaten his legislative agenda, he lashed out in April in a speech in which he gave the muckrakers their name. He compared investigative journalists to the man with a muckrake in John Bunyan's novel Pilgrim's Progress, a character who's fixated on the filth on the floor.

He accused these journalists of reporting only what is vile and debasing rather than offering any solutions. Many writers and editors felt deeply betrayed by Roosevelt's criticism. In the aftermath of his speech, publishers lost their appetite for muckraking journalism and commissioned fewer exposés.

But Roosevelt could not have battled Congress if the muckraking press had not galvanized public opinion in favor of reform. One newspaper observed, Congress might ignore a president, but could not ignore a president and the people. So faced with a determined president, a crusading press, and an angry populace, after some minor horse-trading-on-tariff legislation, Nelson Aldrich and his Republican followers relented, and the Senate finally passed the Hepburn Act on May 18, 1906.

But the spirit of reform would not stop with just the railroads and the Hepburn Act. That spring, the American people found a new focus for their outrage following the publication of Upton Sinclair's sensational novel, The Jungle. This book followed the life of a Lithuanian immigrant working in the Chicago meatpacking industry. Sinclair intended to convert Americans to socialism by depicting the exploitation of immigrant workers

But instead, readers focused on his graphic descriptions of filthy meatpacking plants and slaughterhouses.

Sinclair described walls stained with animal blood, rotten beef treated with chemicals, and dead rats mixed into sausage meat. Workers with tuberculosis coughed and spat blood onto the floors and used open latrines next to processed meat. Responding to the outcry his novel caused, Sinclair quipped that he aimed at the heart of the American people and instead hit their stomach.

The shocking details Sinclair had exposed lent publicity and momentum to the food safety movement. For years, reporters, food scientists, and middle-class women had pushed for government regulation of food, drinks, and medication. In the early 1900s, food and milk tainted with formaldehyde killed thousands of infants a year. Packaging fraud was rampant, with manufacturers marketing brick dust as cinnamon and sold colored corn syrup as honey.

But for years, federal legislation to regulate the food and drug industry had stalled due to corporate influence of Congress. But now, amid growing public outcry over the grisly details in the jungle, President Roosevelt believed he again had the upper hand. Imagine it's May 26, 1906, in Washington, D.C. You're a congressman from Illinois and the Speaker of the House, and you've come to the White House to speak with President Roosevelt about a bill to regulate the meatpacking industry.

You're joined by two fellow congressmen, and as you step into Roosevelt's office, the president gives you a warm handshake and a hearty clap on the back. Welcome, gentlemen. Please have a seat. Roosevelt ushers you into three rocking chairs across from his desk and then sits down to face you. You take off your hat and give him a thin-lipped smile. Thank you, Mr. President. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that Chicago's in an uproar. All this hullabaloo just because some writer wanted to sell novels. And now we have this cockamamie meat inspection bill.

Roosevelt picks up a thick, dog-eared report and drops it into the center of the desk. Well, I've read the Senate bill, but I've also read this.

My inspectors just returned from Chicago, and what they found would curl the toes of an alley rat. It's all exaggerations, I'm sure. I don't think so. I ate this slop in Cuba. Canned meat was part of our army rations. Sometimes it was so bad you'd rather go hungry. I say enough is enough. I want you gentlemen to pass this bill. Pass the bill? With all due respect, Mr. President, this would crush the meat packers. If

If we saddle them with the cost of compliance, they'll be forced to pass the burden on to the consumers. Prices will skyrocket. Demand for U.S. exports would disappear. Everyone would suffer. We're talking unemployment, hunger.

You think high prices are going to kill exports? Wait until the Europeans get their hands on this report. Once they see what's really on their dinner plates, they won't buy a single pound of American meat. Then the meat packers will discover the true meaning of hardship. Mr. President, you can't go blowing up an entire industry. No, but I'm giving you a choice, gentlemen. Pass the Senate's bill and we'll keep this crisis contained.

but refuse, and I'll release this entire report to the newspapers, so the public and the world can read every nauseating detail. The congressman beside you, leaning forward, exchanging nervous glances. You pick up your hat and stand. Well, thank you for your time, Mr. President. Thank you for yours. I trust you'll make the right decision.

You lead your colleagues out of Roosevelt's office. You refuse to give the president the satisfaction of a concession. But as much as you hate to admit it, you know that he has you cornered.

President Roosevelt was one of just many Americans who had read The Jungle in the spring of 1906. And although he opposed the book's socialist themes, he was concerned about the book's description of the meatpacking industry. So he sent two government inspectors to Chicago to corroborate Sinclair's account. The inspectors did, writing, We saw meat shoveled from filthy wooden floors, piled on tables rarely washed, pushed from room to room in rotten boxcarts, gathering dirt, splintering,

splinters, flora filth, and the expectoration of tuberculosis. Then, meeting with legislators, Roosevelt threatened to release the full report to the public if they continued holding up a meat inspection bill languishing in Congress. This ultimatum broke the logjam.

On June 30, 1906, Roosevelt signed two landmark bills into law. The Meat Inspection Act established sanitary standards for meat processing and shipments. And the Pure Food and Drug Act created the Food and Drug Administration, the FDA, and banned misbranded and adulterated food, medicines, and liquor in interstate commerce.

But new federal corporate regulation and consumer protection laws were by no means addressing all the ills of American society. The efforts of reconstruction to build an equitable nation had ended almost three decades ago without significant result. And despite the success of the growing progressive movement, Black Americans felt excluded. Their own demands for change met with silence and hostility. From Wonder 8, this is Episode 2 of our five-part series, The Progressive Era, from American History Tellers.

On the next episode, panic on Wall Street forces President Theodore Roosevelt to turn to America's biggest bankers for help. Racial terror in the streets gives rise to a new era in the movement for civil rights and progressives fight to protect women in the workplace.

If you like American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham for Airship. Audio editing by Christian Paraga. Sound design by Molly Bach.

Supervising Sound Designer Matthew Filler. Music by Thrum. This episode is written by Ellie Stanton. Edited by Dorian Marina. Produced by Alita Rozanski. Managing Producer Desi Blalock. Senior Managing Producer Callum Plews. Senior Producer Andy Herman. And Executive Producers are Jenny Lauer-Beckman, Marsha Louis, and Erin O'Flaherty for Wondery.

Today my bank made a big mistake, but I forgave them. My server spilled water on me, but I forgave him. My toddler drew lipstick on the wall. Was I ever mad? It got me thinking, I can forgive my bank and my server, but I'm upset with my own kid? I mean, what's most important here? So tonight, the two of us are doing lipstick art. On paper. Forgiveness is in you. From PassItOn.com