In 1932, Washington was under siege. The Capitol was surrounded by over 10,000 unemployed World War I veterans from all over the country. Their only assets were the bonus certificates they’d been given after the war—promising a cash bonus sometime in the future. They needed it now. By the end of May 1932, nearly 10,000 bonus marchers occupied the nation’s capital—and tens of thousands more were on their way.

“I aim to get my bonus, and I’m going to wait for the light—don’t after—wait till 1945.” “So they brought you to Washington?” “Well, had to beat the undertaker—spend the money before the undertaker gets it.” “I know who’s made this country worth living in—it’s you fellas.” “Makes me so damn mad—a whole lot of people speak of you as tramps—by God, they didn’t speak of you as tramps in 1917–18.” “Take it from me—this is the greatest demonstration of Americanism we’ve ever had.” “Killer Americanist.”

President Hoover was left to deal with the veterans when the Senate rejected their demands. The marchers stayed camped out in central Washington. On July 16—the last day Congress was in session—Washington was on edge. Thousands of angry veterans surrounded the Capitol. Near midnight, the 72nd Congress adjourned—members slipping through back doors and underground tunnels to avoid confrontation.

The situation had come to a head. The President ordered the evacuation of the veterans from downtown Washington. “And now you bring in the troops.” When General MacArthur moved his forces to the affected area, he knew exactly what he intended—and he adorned himself in dress uniform, with his major aide Dwight D. Eisenhower. The force stepped off at 4:30 p.m.—more than 200 cavalrymen spread across Constitution and Pennsylvania Avenues—behind them 400 infantrymen—followed by tanks and armored vehicles.

The cavalry—one of whom was Major Patton—had their sabers out. Soldiers donned gas masks and, without warning, began hurling gas grenades at the veterans. Troops advanced—some jabbing with bayonets. “It’s war—the greatest concentration of fighting troops in Washington since 1865.” “I knew something was going to happen.” “They might be attacked—and I had a press card—so I passed the police lines and saw soldiers advancing into the camp.”

“When confronted with this—men stood and said, ‘Stand firm as long as you can.’ Then they started throwing tear gas.” “Tear gas was burning my face—I trailed behind my dad, and he kept calling, ‘Come on, boy—come on, boy.’” Marchers choked from the gas—just like battlefields in France—forced from their shacks by smoke bombs and tear gas hurled by troops called out by the President of the United States. “I’ve never seen anything like it—systematically burning tents and possessions.”

“I was thinking of Herbert Hoover when this happened—his election was in three months. I thought this would be the finish of Hoover.” “The orders of the President must be obeyed—and the roaring flames sound the death knell to the fantastic Bonus Army in the shadow of the beautiful dome of the Capitol of the United States of America.” The veterans did not believe the country they had fought for would ignore the plight the Depression had placed them in. Many did not believe U.S. troops would take the field against them.

By early evening, most marchers had been driven across a drawbridge leading to their main camp. The President did not want MacArthur to cross the bridge—and MacArthur disregarded the order. Eisenhower later said he saw this happen. MacArthur said, “I cannot bother with pieces of paper during a military operation,” and crossed the bridge. All through the camp were scenes of panic.

“My dad said, ‘Let’s get the hell out of here—you soldiers—they’re going to kill us.’” Troops began to set fire to wooden shacks. One reporter wrote the blaze was so big it lit the whole sky—a nightmare come to life. The President looked out a White House window in the direction of the fire—then retired for the night. “And the roaring flames sound the death knell to the fantastic Bonus Army that ends so disastrously in the shadow of the Capitol of the United States of America.”

The morning after the Bonus rout, public sentiment turned dramatically against Herbert Hoover. If the expulsion needed a human face, it came in Joe Angelo—whose story was published nationwide. Angelo had earned the Distinguished Service Cross for saving Patton’s life on the battlefield. The next morning, Angelo came to the burned-out field to see Patton. Patton said, “Take this man away—I don’t want to see this man.”

The BEF was broken up. The men returned to some city or other—roaming streets—hopelessly seeking work—or shuffling in breadlines. There they remained—crying examples not of the need for the bonus, but of the need for a new American system.