photograph by vance lauderdale
From his granite perch, E.H. Crump gazes across Overton Park.
Dear Vance: Did a local sculptor craft the impressive bronze monument to E.H. Crump that stands at the entrance to Overton Park? — M.A., Memphis.
Dear M.A.: It’s impossible to overstate the legacy of Edward Hull Crump. In fact, when we published the first issue of this magazine, in 1976, we decided to entice subscribers with a picture of Crump on the cover and a so-called “Conversation with Boss Crump,” even though he had died in 1954. His name and likeness, we thought, still resonated with readers.
Born in 1874 in Holly Springs, Mississippi, the “Red Snapper” (so named because of his red hair) was 19 when he came to Memphis, where he found employment as a bookkeeper for a buggy company. Despite these humble beginnings, he quickly became a member of high society in 1902, when he married Bessie McLean, daughter of the vice president of the Wm. R. Moore Dry Goods Company, one of this city’s largest merchants.
photograph COURTESY MEMPHIS AND SHELBY COUNTY ROOM, MEMPHIS PUBLIC LIBRARY
Boss Crump in the 1940s.
In 1905, Crump entered politics, starting with a low-profile position on the Board of Public Works, and quickly made a name for himself when he was appointed commissioner of the fire and police departments. Elected mayor in 1910, he served until 1915, when he became involved in state and national politics, serving in the U.S. Congress representing Tennessee’s 10th District (later changed to the 9th).
In 1940, voters elected him mayor of Memphis again, but he resigned minutes after being sworn in — so he could catch the train for the Sugar Bowl in New Orleans. The vice mayor took over, until the city commission selected another mayor entirely.
In and out of office, Crump held sway over a well-oiled and powerful political machine. Reporters knew he was always good for a memorable quote, claiming (for example) that a political rival “would milk his neighbor’s cow through a crack in the fence.” His endorsement usually ensured victory for his hand-picked candidates.
W.C. Handy saluted his crime-busting efforts in “The Memphis Blues,” with the famous lyric, “Mr. Crump don’t ’low no easy-riders here.” He even made the May 27, 1946, cover of Time magazine, with the writer calling him “the most absolute political boss in the U.S.” That wasn’t meant as a compliment, though, and some of his judgments were questionable. He was personal friends with Georgia Tann, the woman behind the Tennessee Children’s Home “adoption for profit” scandal, and hand-picked Lloyd Binford to be the city’s censor, who made this city a laughingstock for banning movies that he disliked for entirely personal reasons.
Look, if anyone wants to know more, I recommend Mayor Crump Don’t Like It, by Wayne Dowdy, manager of the Memphis and Shelby County Room at the main library.
Involved with every aspect of the city for half a century, it seemed Crump would be around forever. In fact, he once predicted he would live to be 97. So Memphians were probably stunned by the banner Commercial Appeal headline on October 16, 1954: “E.H. Crump Dies At His Home At Age 80.” Perhaps nothing sums up his accomplishments better than the subhead: “Dominant Figure in Tennessee Politics Was Elected to Office 25 Times.” And that was in addition to his successful insurance and real estate ventures.
On October 18th, Crump lay in state in the dining room of his home at 1962 Peabody, with a line of mourners stretching down the sidewalk. After a brief service the following morning, conducted by Dr. Donald Henning, rector of Calvary Episcopal Church, a hearse carried Crump’s bronze casket to Elmwood Cemetery, followed by a miles-long funeral procession. Memphians young and old stood outside to watch the long line, and more than 1,500 crowded around his gravesite, with hundreds more held back at the cemetery gates. He was laid to rest in the Crump family plot, marked with a soaring granite obelisk. The Commercial Appeal observed, “The political leader of Memphis for half a century became a mortal memory.”
By the next day, the mountain of flowers that covered his grave was completely gone, taken away as souvenirs. “They will press them into their Bibles,” a policemen directing traffic told a reporter.
It would be the largest funeral in Memphis’ history, until the death of Elvis Presley in 1977.
photograph by vance lauderdale
Okay, you asked about the statue? Within two days of his burial, the Memphis and Shelby County Council of Civic Clubs decided Crump deserved a more impressive — and more public — monument. These discussions took months, with the first order of business establishing the E.H. Crump Memorial Statue Fund. One member said, “The hope is at least for a life-sized statue.” They considered various designs and locations, from Court Square to the riverfront, before settling on the Poplar Avenue entrance to Overton Park, across from the Parkview Hotel.
An anonymous donor kickstarted the campaign with a gift of $5,000, accompanied by a note reading, “No man better deserves this honor,” noting “Mr. Crump’s brilliant record as a man, as a citizen, and as a great civic patriot.” Donations began to pour in; within a year, the statue fund topped $100,000 — the equivalent of $1.2 million today.
After reviewing works from various artists, in July 1955 the committee — now called the E.H. Crump Memorial Association — selected New York sculptor Donald DeLue (1897-1988) to create the commemorative statue, to be unveiled on Victory Day, November 11, 1956.
As the donations increased, however, the association’s plans became more complex. The Crump statue would not stand alone, but would now serve as the centerpiece for a memorial plaza with a sweeping granite wall holding two bas-relief figures representing Inspiration and Achievement.
It was quite an achievement to obtain the services of DeLue, a nationally recognized artist. After graduating from the School of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, and five years working with sculptors in Paris, he returned to the U.S. and began specializing in monuments and memorials, many still standing today. Among them: sculptures for the Philadelphia courthouse, Gettysburg battlefield, Harvard, University of Pennsylvania, Virginia Tech, the Smithsonian, the 1964 New York World’s Fair, and the Normandy American Cemetery in France.
For Crump, DeLue told reporters that “he aims to create as striking a likeness as possible. Not even his glasses will be omitted. Without the glasses, it would not look like Crump.” (Maybe so, but he must have changed his mind about that detail; the finished statue has no eyeglasses.) He worked from photos and home movies provided by the Crump family, who frequently visited his studio on the New Jersey shore to review the progress. DeLue began with a preliminary clay model 18 inches high, progressed to larger versions, and once those were final, made the full-size plaster version, which was cast in bronze.
photograph by vance lauderdale
The statue has lots of interesting details, such as hat.
Remember the original committee’s hope that they would at least end up with something life-size? The finished bronze statue, shipped to Memphis in March 1957, stood nine feet, six inches tall. It was placed in storage, hidden away until the unveiling on Easter Sunday, April 21st.
That afternoon, at precisely 1:30 p.m., the ceremony began with an invocation by Dr. Donald Henning, who had performed the funeral rites at Crump’s home more than two years earlier, and a benediction by Baptist minister D.A. Ellis. Tennessee state representative Clifford Davis and former mayor Walter Malone delivered short addresses.
Then, the Memphis Federation of Musicians Band performed, the Al Chymia Temple Chanters sang, and the American Legion provided the color guard for the dramatic moment: Pallie Pidgeon, Crump’s 8-year-old great-granddaughter, tugged a rope to pull off the tarpaulin — revealing a standing figure of Boss Crump, wearing a suit and overcoat, holding a cane in one hand and his familiar floppy hat in the other.
The Commercial Appeal reported, “Comments like ‘It’s just like him!’ and ‘Isn’t it lovely?’ came from the crowd.” The newspaper said the statue was “a bronze thing of beauty, made possible by the donations of 1,496 citizens.” The names of those contributors “would be forever sealed beneath the granite base.”
One person, at least, wasn’t pleased. That was the art critic for The Commercial Appeal. In his “Adventures in Art” column, Guy Northrop Jr. acknowledged that the size was “rightly large and stands in a heroic manner.” The problem, he complained, was with the face: “The sculptor failed to capture Crump’s dynamic personality. It is a benign face, lacking the crackling good humor and the red snapper character one usually found in it. The eyes and mouth are those of a dreamer, rather than a doer.”
Northrup also disliked that bulky overcoat, “which is entirely uncalled for. To our knowledge, this is the only such statue clothed in such unheroic and unnecessary garb” and makes Crump look like “a Russian general.”
And finally, he expressed displeasure at the cost, “which ran to something like $100,000 and puts it in the class with an apartment building or a small Rembrandt painting.”
Well, I think it’s quite fine, coat and all. And I hope something similar marks my last resting place, but with one key addition: The Lauderdale name shall be spelled out in flashing neon.
