My Misrecognition and Naming Highways

Rachel Maddow’s podcast, “Ultra, Season 2,” tells the story of Wyoming Senator Lester Hunt, who took his own life in 1954. I was not aware of this tragic chapter in America’s political history, which is a reminder of the destructive power wielded by Wisconsin Senator Joe McCarthy.

McCarthy did not act alone. One of his allies was New Hampshire Senator Styles Bridges, who, along with Idaho senator Herman Welker, threatened to go public with the arrest of Sen. Hunt’s son on morals charges unless Hunt resigned from the Senate. Their motive was simple: Get Hunt out and Wyoming’s governor would appoint a Republican, thereby shifting control of the Senate.

In January 1957, the Stevens High School band boarded the train at Claremont Junction, bound for Union Station in Washington to march in the inaugural parade marking Eisenhower’s second term. My father told me that if I saw former New Hampshire Governor Sherman Adams, then Eisenhower’s Chief of Staff, I should introduce myself and send his regards.

We spent four memorable days in our nation’s capital. We even attended the Saturday night Inaugural Festival featuring Abbott and Costello (“Who’s on First?”) and Pat Boone (“Love Letters in the Sand.”).

On Inauguration Day, I marched down Pennsylvania Avenue playing my clarinet at the end of the woodwinds row. New Hampshire Senator Norris Cotton, whom my father also knew, walked alongside me.

On the last morning of our stay, we visited the capitol building. I was near the Rotunda when, just a few feet away, I saw Sherman Adams. Or so I thought.

I went over to this gentleman, told him I was with the Stevens High School Band, and said my father, Frank Steinfield, had told me to introduce myself and send his regards.

“How is your dear father,” he asked.

“He’s fine, Mr. Adams,” I said.

“Please be sure to send him my best wishes.”

“I certainly will, Mr. Adams.”

Later that day, on the train home, I told my friend Mike Weiner that I had met Sherman Adams in the Rotunda, and he was very friendly. “I didn’t see him,” said Mike.

“Well, I did,” I said, picking up that day’s Washington newspaper. “Here he is on the front page.”

“Look again,” said Mike.

I did, and the caption identified the photo as Sen. Styles Bridges. “But I called him Mr. Adams, and he didn’t tell me who he was,” I protested.

“Of course not,” said my politically astute friend. “He’s a politician.”

When I got home and told my father about this encounter, I asked whether he knew Sen. Bridges. The answer was no.

This happened 67 years ago, but it remains fresh in my memory. I’ve always believed Sen Bridges should have told me who he was. Now that I know about his role in hounding Lester Hunt out of the Senate, I have another reason to think poorly about him.

The section of Interstate 93 from Concord to the White Mountains is named the “Styles Bridges Highway.” I would feel better if New Hampshire had named the road after Norris Cotton. So far as I can tell, Idaho has shown better judgment. No highway in that state is named after Herman Welker.

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