Capitalism Was Saved

March 13, early morning.

Ballantine stood by the office window, holding a summary report that had just been delivered.

He studied it for a long time, then turned to his assistant, who was organizing documents. "Notify Feilan and call the White House."

The assistant looked up. "What should I tell them?"

"Tell them that the review of the major banks reopening in the Federal Reserve cities has been completed. They can reopen as scheduled at one o'clock this afternoon."

The corners of Ballantine's mouth lifted slightly.

It was the first relaxed smile to appear on his face in days.

At exactly ten o'clock in the morning on March 13, 1933, the Treasury Department officially issued a public announcement.

The major banks in the twelve Federal Reserve cities of New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, Boston, St. Louis, Cleveland, Richmond, Atlanta, Dallas, Minneapolis, Kansas City, and San Francisco had all passed inspection and would reopen promptly at one o'clock that afternoon.

The news spread like wildfire.

Telegraph lines in every major city were instantly set ablaze.

Associated Press reporters rushed toward the telegraph machines.

United Press editors shouted themselves hoarse, yelling, "Change the front page!"

Radio hosts read the news with voices that nearly trembled.

And in those twelve cities, the news traveled even faster.

Not by telegram, but from person to person, through newsboys shouting on street corners, through neighbors knocking on their neighbors' doors.

"The banks are reopening!"

"The government was telling the truth!"

"At one o'clock! We can withdraw our money at one o'clock!"

Washington, Treasury Building, the President's temporary office.

Roosevelt sat in his wheelchair, with a black telephone receiver on the desk before him.

It was a dedicated line installed by the Treasury Department, capable of receiving real-time reports directly from the Federal Reserve Bank of New York.

William stood to his left, his hands clasped before him.

Ballantine stood to his right, his eyes fixed on the receiver.

Feilan leaned against the window, expressionless.

At twelve-thirty, a burst of static came through the receiver, followed by a clear voice. "New York Fed reporting. The banks are ready, cash at the counters is sufficient, all windows are open, crowds are arriving in succession, order is normal..."

New York, the Federal Reserve Bank.

A dense crowd had already gathered outside the entrance.

Men wore shabby overcoats, women held children in their arms, and elderly people leaned on canes. They had come from Brooklyn, from Queens, and from apartments on the Upper West Side.

No one spoke.

Everyone stared at the tightly shut doors.

One o'clock sharp.

The doors opened.

Bank employees stood at the entrance, stepping aside to clear a path and gesturing, "Please, come in."

The crowd surged inside.

Behind the counters, cash had already been stacked in neat piles.

Not the usual symbolic few bundles, but stacks upon stacks of banknotes, piled as high as small hills.

Normally, only seven or eight windows operated. Today, there were twenty, all open and all staffed.

The sight gave everyone the same impression: as long as you dared to withdraw, the bank dared to pay.

A middle-aged man in a shabby overcoat pulled a wrinkled passbook from his pocket and handed it through the window.

The teller took it, glanced at it, then looked up with a smile. "Sir, how much would you like to withdraw?"

"All... all of it."

The man's voice trembled.

The teller nodded and lowered his head to begin counting.

One stack, two stacks, three stacks... Before long, a pile of cash was pushed back through the window.

"Sir, please count it."

The man looked down at the money.

It was his money.

Money he had saved dollar by dollar through twenty years of odd jobs. Money he had thought he would never get back.

His hands began to shake. He looked up at the teller, his lips moving several times before he finally forced out a sentence. "The President... the President didn't lie to us."

"Yes, sir. This is the President's promise."

Tears streamed down the man's face.

He did not take it all. He put only a small portion into his pocket and left the rest with the teller, then turned and walked out of the bank.

At the entrance, a group of reporters surrounded him. "Sir! Sir! Did you get your money?"

"I did, but I only withdrew one hundred dollars. I left the rest in the bank."

"Why?"

"Because others may need it more than I do today."

"Aren't you afraid everyone else will withdraw their money, and the bank will run out of cash and close again?"

"No. I believe the man who personally made that promise to us over the radio!"

"..."

The news swept across the country like lightning.

In all twelve cities, every bank that opened saw similar scenes unfold.

Some people withdrew their money, watching the numbers in their passbooks turn into cash in their hands, and they cried.

Others withdrew money, then deposited it again.

Even more people did not withdraw anything at all.

They merely crowded outside the banks, watching people come and go, listening to cheers and sobs, then letting out long breaths.

They did not need to withdraw money.

They only needed to know that it was still there.

March 14.

About two hundred and fifty city banks with clearinghouses were approved to reopen.

That day, Roosevelt and the others received a number that delighted them.

More people were depositing money than withdrawing it.

The cash that had been frantically withdrawn before the Bank Holiday was flowing back into the banks at a visibly rapid pace.

According to statistics, about one-third of the deposits withdrawn during the bank runs had returned to the banks.

William Woodin stared at the report, unable to speak for a long time.

Ballantine removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes hard, then put them back on and read the report again.

Roosevelt leaned back in his wheelchair, the curve of his lips widening until it became an undisguised smile.

Only Feilan remained calm, smoking by the window as though everything had gone exactly as expected.

Roosevelt asked with a smile, "Do you know what this means?"

William replied, "Confidence. They're beginning to believe in us again."

"They're not just beginning to believe in us again. They're beginning to believe in this country again!"

Roosevelt looked at Feilan and said approvingly, "That's right. They're not only beginning to believe in me again; they're beginning to believe in this country again. Nothing could be better than that."

March 15. Across the country, all qualifying banks officially reopened.

Before long, Wall Street gave its response as well.

That morning, the New York Stock Exchange resumed trading.

The instant the bell rang, the trading floor erupted in cheers that had been suppressed for far too long.

Traders waved frantically, shouted prices at the top of their lungs, and desperately shoved days' worth of backlogged orders into the system.

At closing, the Dow Jones Industrial Average stood at—up 15.34%.

It was one of the largest single-day gains in its history.

That evening, the editorial office of The Wall Street Journal was brightly lit.

The editor-in-chief personally wrote the next day's front-page headline: "Miracle! Capitalism Saved in Just Seven Days."