A documentary can give you a man's face at the moment he realises he was right and nobody listened. It cannot give you the four hundred pages of Senate testimony that got him there.
Each chapter takes one person and follows them from before the crash to after — what they saw, what they concluded, what they did about it, and what it cost. The evidence sits on the page alongside the narrative: transcripts, correspondence, camp records, broadcast scripts.
One decade, seen many ways.
Five parts, three chapters each (two in the last). Every chapter links to that person’s full profile. Read them in order and the decade assembles itself; read one alone and it still stands.
He came to Washington in February of 1933 with a yellow legal pad and no particular expectation of being listened to. The Senate Finance Committee had been taking testimony for weeks from men with better credentials than his — professors, bankers with Eastern accents, officials of the outgoing administration who spoke of confidence and liquidation in tones suggesting these were weather rather than choices.
Eccles was forty-two. He ran twenty-six banks in Utah and Idaho and had never published a paper on economics in his life. What he had was two years of watching the lines outside his own institutions grow longer, and a conclusion he could not argue himself out of.
If every household saved, if every business cut wages, if every government balanced its books, then the total money being spent in the country would fall. And since one person's spending is another person's income, the fall in spending would produce a fall in income, which would produce a further fall in spending. There was no floor to this. It could continue until there was nothing left.
He said so. The transcript records no immediate reaction.
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