Charles Lathrop Pack and the 1918 War Garden Battle Against Baseball
This botanical history post was featured on The Daily Gardener podcast:
March 30, 1918
Dearest reader,
On this day, the Oregon Daily Journal of Portland offered readers more than just their usual scoop: a sharp rebuke aimed squarely at baseball club owners planning to shift game start times back by an hour, all in pursuit of an extra hour of daylight—hours that might otherwise be spent admiring the soil or coaxing a tomato from seed to fruit.
Ah, the audacity!
Leading this chorus of disapproval was none other than Charles Lathrop Pack, president of the National War Garden Commission, who declared with no small measure of judgement,
“A move like this will take thousands of hours of time from gardens. It will doubtless mean many extra dollars in the box office, but it is certainly a violation of the spirit of the law.”
Surely, one might add, money cannot outgrow the humble tomato vine without consequence.
Pack reminded the leisure-loving baseball leagues that the daylight saving law was crafted for a nobler purpose:
“[the] law was intended to increase the daylight usefulness in war work, and was not intended to give extra hours for recreation...”
What chutzpah, then, for owners to propose such a thing!
The man did not hold back, branding them “slackers of the worst type.” A stinging accusation indeed, worthy of a fine at any garden party or ballgame.
But, dear reader, let us not hasten to judge without a glimpse behind the rose bush.
Historian Michael O'Malley, in his book Keeping Watch, reminds us that Mr. Pack’s role was no mere public service. As head of the War Garden Commission, he led a lobby for garden manufacturers—tools, seeds, fertilizers, and all manner of preserving jars. In short, the good sir stood to benefit handsomely from any uptick in wartime gardening.
A conflict of interest?
Perhaps.
Yet, even in high society, one must tend the garden as well as the ledger.
Victory gardens were the pride of the home front during World War I, transforming backyards into fields of patriotic vegetables and flowers. It was a battle against hunger fought with trowels and toil, a quiet revolution that made packhouses bloom and kitchens sing.
So, as the baseball players ignored the crack of the bat for a fleeting hour of leisure, the gardeners—no slackers here—were hard at work.
And Charles Lathrop Pack, ever the vigilant steward, ensured that the plants of duty and daylight flourished above all.
