Evil Breeding

perhaps because I’d overcome a lingering fear of discovering facts I didn’t want to know. Liberated, I made myself a cup of strong coffee and settled at the kitchen table with both dogs snoozing at my feet. The material I’d been avoiding consisted of New York Times articles that I’d hastily copied from microfiche and deposited largely unread in a manila folder labeled “Wartime Hiatus.” Because the book was supposed to focus on the Morris and Essex shows held before World War II, I’d had a handy rationalization for poring over the Times articles from that era while neglecting the contents of the folder I now opened. Still, in the time I’d frittered away exchanging e-mail and surfing the Web in search of anything whatever about Mrs. Dodge, I could practically have memorized the articles about the wartime cancellation of Morris and Essex. After all, how much had there been to report about shows that hadn’t been held? One sentence a year would’ve been adequate: “The Morris and Essex Kennel Club has announced the cancellation of its annual show.” End of story. But the real articles didn’t stop there. As I remembered from the skimming I’d done before copying the articles from microfiche, the New York Times went on to express a low opinion of the cancellations; between the lines, the paper blamed Mrs. Dodge.
    The first of the hiatus articles, as I thought of them, had been published on January 28, 1942. Mrs. M. Hartley Dodge, president of the Morris and Essex Kennel Club of Madison, New Jersey, had announced the cancellation of the organization’s annual all-breed dog show because of war conditions. The unanimous decision, based on the recommendation of Mrs. Dodge, had been made at the club’s yearly meeting at Giralda Farms. The Times described the club’s action as the “first major break in the big show circuit ascribed to war conditions.” The article went on: “Both the United States and England in the first world war found that sports contributed to sustaining army and civilian morale. Great Britain, despite terrific bombing, has continued to carry on in sports as far as possible. Many organizations all over the United States have voted to continue.” The final paragraph noted a “sharp contrast” between this cancellation and the determination of other kennel clubs in the United States to hold their shows as planned. The implication was clear: Whereas the Westminster Kennel Club, the Eastern Dog Club, and other major dog organizations were patriotically following the British example of carrying on, Morris and Essex was letting our side down. Furthermore, since Mrs. Dodge practically was Morris and Essex, the failure was her fault.
    In a letter to the Times published on February 2, 1942, a patriotic dog fancier took Mrs. Dodge and her club to task for delivering a “body blow.” According to the writer, instead of following the weak example set by Mrs. Dodge and the Morris and Essex Club, other dog people and other clubs should boldly carry on and rally round in the inspiring fashion of the British. As I interpreted the letter, it went on to accuse Mrs. Dodge of weakness, cowardice, and stupidity. She must have read the letter, too. It had not changed the club’s decision.
    As sharp as the contrast between Morris and Essex’s caving in and the struggle of other dog clubs to charge ahead was the contrast between the tone of Times articles before and after the ’42 cancellation. From 1928 on, as Mrs. Dodge’s shows grew larger and grander, the coverage in the Times grew increasingly extensive and laudatory. Separate articles, most under the byline of Henry R. Ilsley, announced plans for the show, oohed and ahed about the judges, reported on the number of entries expected, and raved about the trophies and prizes. Year after year, the Times heralded Morris and Essex with a long article about elaborate preparations and glorious expectations, and the next day, reported with wild enthusiasm on the excitement and splendor of the event. In 1936 the show was “one of the most notable sporting pageants ever staged.” The next year it was “the greatest outdoor canine exhibition ever to be staged in any land.” The show was “an institution” the fame of which had “spread to the ends of the canine world.” It was “a pre-eminent pageant as well, unrivaled in the beauty and color of its environment, unsurpassed in the perfection of its staging.” In 1939 this “fixture,”