“Today, all of us are strapped into the roller coaster in the fantastical theme park of Welch’s political imagination. And we can’t get off. Who then was Robert Welch? To some, he was a genius: a child prodigy who was reading at age two. He attended the University of North Carolina when he was twelve. He created the Sugar Daddy and other childhood confectionaries. He founded the John Birch Society, the most successful anti-Communist organization in the history of the United States. To his detractors, he was at best a prophet of doom who predicted that the country was on the verge of a Communist conspiracy engulfing all aspects of American life…”
- Edward H. Miller, A Conspiratorial Life: Robert Welch, the John Birch Society, and the Revolution of American Conservatism
Robert Welch is known to history – if he is remembered at all – for two things. First, he created the Sugar Daddy. Second, he founded the John Birch Society.
If you are unfamiliar with the Sugar Daddy, it is a piece of candy that takes an excellent ingredient – caramel – and turns it into a sticky, stone-hard block that is guaranteed to destroy any dental work you’ve had done. Meanwhile, the John Birch Society was a niche right-wing organization that developed during the Cold War, based on the proposition that everyone who disagreed with the Society was a Communist spy directed by the Kremlin.
Neither accomplishment necessarily warrants a full-scale, cradle-to-grave biography. But that has not stopped Edward H. Miller from trying. In A Conspiratorial Life, Miller tells you everything you need to know about Robert Welch, which turns out to be very little, and a whole lot more that you don’t.
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Before going further, I should add that Welch’s claims-to-fame are not nothing. Most people – myself included – won’t have any, much less two. Still, inventing a piece of candy, and later trafficking in baseless conspiracies, are not exactly indelible accomplishments. In the case of the Sugar Daddy, it is a barely edible accomplishment. Call me old fashioned, but if you’re getting the near-400-page, hardcover treatment, you have to have really impacted events in some meaningful way.
These thoughts kept intruding as I slogged my way through the opening chapters of A Conspiratorial Life. Miller dutifully, methodically provides the backstory of the Welch family, describes young Robert’s upbringing and schooling, and follows him into adulthood. I hate to use the word “boring,” but this is extremely boring. None of this amounts to anything more than trivia. Heck, it’s not even that, because that implies that at some point, sometime in the future, knowing Robert Welch’s alma mater might help you nail a question on trivia night.
The early-goings of most biographies tend to stretch the boundaries of relevance. This slow-going can sometimes be overcome by an author with a particular flair for connecting a person’s formative years with their later selves. Miller is not able to do that here. Partly, this stems from a general lack of artistry. Mainly it’s because Welch is not an exceptional figure. His childhood doesn’t really matter because his adulthood doesn’t really matter. He’s a fringe figure who is far less important than the political organization he started, and the echoes of that organization years after his death.
***
A Conspiratorial Life is weighted down by its own self-seriousness. It is ponderous in relating all the Robert Welch information that exists, without ever wondering if it is adding anything to the conversation. Despite this oversharing, Miller only gives a single paragraph to the creation of the Sugar Daddy. Going into this, I had numerous questions about the famed tooth-destroyer, and none of them were answered.
This refusal to go in a lighthearted direction, if even for a moment, represented a doubling-down on a needlessly grim tone that had me dreading this each night.
***
Things do get mildly more interesting when Welch transforms into the person he was born to be: an angry middle-aged man.
After his brother kicked him out of the candy company he started, Welch formed the John Birch Society. Among its most well-known claims is that Dwight David Eisenhower – the Supreme Allied Commander in the European Theater of the Second World War, the 34th president of the United States, and a Republican – was actually a Communist agent. Welch never offered proof of this, as you can’t offer something that doesn’t exist. Yet he proved an early adopter to the if-you-say-it-it’s-true school of political discourse.
Miller’s main argument in A Conspiratorial Life is that Welch played an important, under-acknowledged role in putting the conservative movement onto the trajectory it travels today. Certainly, he demonstrates that Welch’s ideas were debated, shared, and often repeated by more-famous political operatives such as William F. Buckley, Clarence Manion, and Barry Goldwater.
While Miller may be onto something, he blunts the impact of his thesis by unspooling it in the most tedious way imaginable. Many of the later chapters consist solely of letters exchanged between Welch and other conservatives, which eventually becomes numbing and repetitive. There simply has to be a better way of presenting this material than by filtering it through the correspondence between Welch and Slobodan Draskovich.
By the time we get to the end of the book, and Miller is giving Welch credit for helping stop the Equal Rights Amendment, I could barely rouse myself to attention. That’s too bad, because the expansion of the John Birch Society to encompass opposition to abortion, homosexuality, and women’s rights might have proven an interesting way to study the evolution of conservatism and its embrace of the so-called culture wars.
***
It would have taken a very talented writer to give the breath of life to such a dour, humorless figure as Robert Welch. This is a man who simply epitomizes the stereotypical squareness of the postwar Eisenhower Era. He was a small-c conservative in the sense that change startled him, leading to evident discomfort with civil rights, women in the workplace, and the possibility that somewhere, two people were having sex for enjoyment.
Unfortunately, Miller’s style doesn’t give this material any added value, and occasionally detracts from it. For instance, he doesn’t seem to have a good grasp on Welch’s character, often contradicting himself as to whether Welch was a racist or an anti-Semite. This is probably a function of Miller’s struggle to provide a fair portrait of a guy he doesn’t really like. That said, it smudges the picture he’s trying to paint.
More fundamentally, I found this difficult to read. “Good” or “bad” prose is hard to define. Like obscenity, we know it when we see it. The trouble here, as best I can explain it, is that I often had to read Miller’s sentences two or three or four times to understand the sentiment he sought to convey. Even then, I was frequently perplexed.
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Ultimately, I believe that Miller would’ve been better off writing about the John Birch Society itself, rather than recounting the entire life of its founder. There is a case to be made about the Society’s role in the conservative revolution, but A Conspiratorial Life is too broad and unfocused to make it.
***
Frankly, the political aspects of this story didn’t draw me. I came here because I believe that the post-truth, choose-your-own-reality era we inhabit is one of the biggest challenges of our times.
To that end, Miller wants us to believe that we live in a world of Welch’s making: an angry fantasy realm of fake news, of birthers, truthers, and false flag operations, where a fact is anything that gets retweeted at least a hundred times.
Yet that is not really true. Sure, Welch was a harbinger of things to come, but he was not the first man to peddle nonsense for a living. In my opinion, the lies are always the same; it’s the technology that has changed. People all across the political spectrum believe in various conspiracies. The difference now than even thirty years ago is that theorists can easily connect with each other. Welch mostly communicated through the mail. Now, anyone on earth with a cell phone can walk into a Starbucks, connect to the wi-fi for free, and say whatever pops into their heads. Depending on what is said, and who reads it, that statement can go around the globe in minutes, becoming part of the discourse, or even driving it.
Robert Welch had nothing whatsoever to do with this. He sure would have loved it, though.