The Glory and the Dream
by William Manchester, ©1972, 845 pages
a Book Report by Ron Housley, 18 July 2026
Here is a book I purchased in 1975 and waited over 50 years to actually read. This is Volume One of Two. Volume One is 845 pages.
Here is a book long touted to be some remarkable narration of the FDR years, extolling the supposed virtues of the New Deal. Manchester launches into a vivid portrait of desperate poverty wrecking its havoc on both average down-and-out Americans and on tycoons of industry and banking — both sides painted as desperate, as hungry, as barely holding on. The portrait, as I read it in 2025, beckons me to ask: is he serious? Was 1932 that bad?
I've read other books that seemed more objective in showing us the industrial juggernaut which propelled the country forward through the Depression and into winning World War Two. So it's only natural that I would be skeptical of Manchester's extreme slant here: painting the picture of utter despair in every nook and cranny of the country. Page after page, I find myself asking: were things this bleak, or was there actually an underlying core of economic strength — one that a different set of policies might have let recover on its own, faster, and without the price that got paid?
Manchester floods us with concrete descriptions of people trying to cope with the Depression, cleverly mixed together with "statistical" data suggesting that the rich are exploiting the poor. I saw nary a hint that ineptness or shenanigans at the Fed or in Congress might explain the economic mess which these institutions probably created — and then deepened into "The Great Depression." Manchester never quite says it, but his own material makes the case better than he seems to realize: the controls that followed didn't cure the sickness, they prolonged it. That's a fact his narrative contains without ever naming.
Then we are treated to an accounting of FDR's ascendency, with tales of economic woe leading up to the March 1933 inauguration. Banks are failing nationwide; depositors are withdrawing their gold in a nick of time; the entire country is in a panic. Then in FDR's first days in office, he secures from Congress unprecedented "emergency" powers, amounting to dictatorial control over regular citizens.
He orders those regular citizens to bring their withdrawn gold back to the bank under threat of prison terms. He makes it suddenly illegal to own and store your own money. And he orders the Fed to print the names of all depositors who withdrew gold in the last two years and indicates that hoarders will be spared no mercy. Prison terms for hoarders(!). What Manchester is describing, without ever quite framing it this way, is the founding move of the whole era: a government deciding that a declared emergency licenses the suspension of the very rights it exists to protect. Once that premise is accepted — that rights hold only until an emergency is declared inconvenient — everything that follows in this volume is just that premise working itself out in a hundred different agencies and a hundred different Tuesdays.
The New Deal is off and running; and the throttling of individual rights is off and running right along with it. But there is very little public complaint at the time. FDR apparently has nearly everybody paralyzed with fear.
This is not the way the history of that period has always been reported to me: not by my high school history classes, not by the many books I've already digested on the subject, not by all the documentary films I've watched. Manchester is putting a strong "bite" into his reportage. He never announces he's making an argument — and that turns out to be exactly the method. He doesn't need to argue for the New Deal; he just needs to keep showing you the breadlines and let the reader supply the conclusion.
FLOODING THE ZONE
FDR makes Trump look like a piker in how he "flooded the zone" with never-ending orders, the difference being that FDR's orders had the backing of at least some new authorizing legislation. He took from Peter — the depositor with gold in a strongbox — to pay Paul — the government program of the week. He trampled on the very individual rights that Presidents are sworn to protect. And as he turned the country away from its hard-fought freedoms, he assured everyone that it was in the name of preserving freedom. Nobody in these pages seemed to see the perversion at play. Even FDR himself said about it: "I think I am a bit shell-shocked." (p. 95)
The new onslaught of orders, rules, and laws became an enhanced version of "never let a crisis go to waste." FDR's Congress willingly helped. He had figured out how to subvert the law, and the people cheered him on. Higher-level abstractions like "Limited Constitutional Republic" were of little concern. One Maine Congressman (C. Beedy) lamented: "God save the people of the United States!" (p. 102) as the alphabet agencies exploded into our lives.
(SIDE NOTE: I was personally saddened to find out that electrification of the Pennsylvania Railroad was a WPA project, since I had always assumed it was one of the achievements of a great private company.)
FDR's New Deal had plenty of pushback, vows to repeal every shred of it. Yet when Republicans finally regained the majority in Congress, they never repealed any of it — just like modern-day Republicans never repealed Obamacare, even after years of pushback saying they would do so at the first opportunity. In both cases, unwinding the program meant standing up publicly against the idea that the strong owe the weak their sacrifice — an idea dressed as Christian charity but enforced by statute rather than left to conscience. Repeal, in both eras, meant being cast as the villain who wanted to take something away from someone in need, and no party in power wanted to wear that. So the programs stayed, and grew.
MONTAGE AFTER MONTAGE
What we have here in The Glory and the Dream is a long series of montages, stitched together like one of those highlight reels we used to see of the Year in Review. I had many of those "Oh, I remember that" moments as the pages flew by. Or, in the case of the years before I was alive, "I remembered hearing about that."
In each montage, Manchester gives us stories, some new to me, some well known. But the stories he selected always aimed at showing the profligacy of the rich as against the oppression of the struggling "little guy." He was always sympathetic to FDR's supposed fight for the little guy, and entirely forgiving of any Constitutional trampling such sympathy might require. It was not so different from modern attempts to justify Presidential overreach — the sympathetic cause changes, the license it grants the executive doesn't.
REXFORD TUGWELL
Much has been written about Tugwell, including his role as the leading member of FDR's "Brain Trust," who became known as "Rex the Red" due to the pro-Communist perspective he brought to policy creation within the White House. He was among the intellectual architects of the New Deal's expansion into citizens' economic lives, and it was in that same circle that John Maynard Keynes found an audience willing to advise deficit spending as a guiding doctrine.
In 1939, Secretary of the Treasury Morgenthau said: "We have tried spending money. We are spending more than we have ever spent before and it does not work. ... I say after eight years of this administration we have just as much unemployment as when we started and an enormous debt to boot!" Manchester includes the line and moves past it — a momentary embarrassment in his telling, not the verdict it actually is. Eight years, and the thing the whole program promised to fix was unfixed, with a debt added on top. That deserved to be the hinge of the book. Instead it's a quote on a page, gone by the next paragraph.
There was always a powerful faction in the background, somehow certain there would never be a reckoning to deficit spending — even though once the government borrows and then never pays back, the damage is hardened into place.
ALPHABET AGENCIES, BUREAUS, COMMISSIONS
Manchester tells us about the mid-1930s as a time when American culture became infected with institutional controls and regulations, agencies too numerous to list, with alphabet-soup names — stirring up contempt from only a very small opposition in Congress. He narrates this proliferation the way you'd narrate weather moving in: something that simply arrived, the natural next stage in a modernizing economy, rather than what it actually was — the accumulated result of specific people with specific anti-freedom, pro-statist convictions making specific choices they could have made differently. Regulation isn't a season. It's a policy, chosen by men with names, and Manchester's prose lets them off the hook by making their choices sound like maturation instead of ideology.
Only a handful of opponents tried to engage with abstractions like freedom, or liberty, or individualism in their attempt to oppose the flood of collectivist controls over their lives. The majority was enthusiastic to allow a certain degradation of the institutions protecting their liberties — they had little insight about how it might all play out in the end. And this is really the volume's quiet thesis, whether Manchester means it to be or not: you can watch, across these chapters, a government built to protect liberty gradually redefine its job as distributing security instead — to depositors, to farmers, to the unemployed, to whichever constituency needed showing that Washington cared. That's not a conclusion I'm importing from outside the book. It's what 845 pages of alphabet agencies actually documents, chapter after chapter, whether or not Manchester ever stops to say so himself.
THE PICTURE OF RUSSIA
Throughout this volume, William Manchester treats Russia as some "great power," which many people were tricked into believing it to be, rather than seeing Russia as a second- or third-rate world power which happened to have nuclear weapons — thanks in no small part to the espionage success of its extensive spy networks.
Millions of Europeans were "sold" into Communist slavery after World War II, kept behind the Iron Curtain at gunpoint, largely on the belief that Russia was strong. The Berlin Wall didn't fall until a decade and a half after Manchester's book was published.
Meanwhile, the book gives us, over the span of about 50 pages, the tale of the Marshall Plan as a massive welfare give-away scheme to supposedly rebuild Europe. What's worth sitting with is the German case: postwar Germany's recovery was swift and thorough, and a good number of economists trace that recovery less to the dollar volume of aid it received than to Ludwig Erhard's currency reform and rapid dismantling of wartime price and production controls — a return, in other words, to something closer to free exchange, right at the moment Britain and France were extending rationing and expanding their own state planning. If that's a fair reading, it's a striking case study sitting right inside Manchester's own account: the country that leaned back toward economic freedom fastest recovered fastest, and the book doesn't pause long enough to ask why.
EISENHOWER IN 1952
Manchester's Volume One wraps up with behind-the-scenes detail of the 1952 Presidential contest. The Republicans had been out of the White House for over two solid decades by this time. The Democrat campaign song, "Don't Let Them Take It Away," was a response to chronic Republican threats and promises to unwind the coercive regulations of the New Deal.
The Republicans had long voiced their wish to restore the individual freedoms quashed by many New Deal policies, but those policies were good for buying votes. The voters could be showered with manna as if from heaven, and the bounty bought votes for whomever was in power. Two decades in, the transition was basically complete: a government once understood to exist for protecting what citizens already had had become, in the public's expectation, an entity that exists to distribute what citizens are owed — and no party that wanted to keep winning elections was going to be the one to say otherwise.
THE DIENBIENPHU DEBACLE
Volume One wraps up with the French annihilation in Vietnam, one more in a line of French military defeats. Manchester crafts this telling just as he does the others that preceded it — by never actually telling us that he's making an argument or taking sides.
He never did claim to be objectively praising the New Deal earlier in the volume, yet his praise was all over those pages. Likewise, he never outright stated his contempt for John Foster Dulles's "domino theory" of Communist domination in Southeast Asia, yet his contempt was all over those pages as well. That's the method, start to finish: no stated thesis, just 845 pages of selection that adds up to one.
MANCHESTER’S TOME
In spite of Manchester's liberal-consensus sympathies, I was drawn into his narrative of how things unfolded from FDR to Eisenhower. There was no hint in all these pages that Manchester was able to judge political events in terms of whose rights were being violated, or in terms of which political position was objectively justified — and thus he never positioned himself as an authoritative voice able to impart meaning to the events he was describing. He simply arranged the facts so the meaning would arrive on its own, and for a lot of readers, it probably has.
Over all, Volume One was a nice trip down memory lane, colored in with an abundance of detail I had not previously encountered — but without the accompanying moral judgment I need in order to have closure in my thinking about a historical era. Manchester's storytelling did inject his biases, but he never attempted any actual argumentation to support them. For that, the reader is left to his own devices. I'm pretty much expecting the same thing for Volume Two.