This Fourth of July, we are likely to hear “The Yankee Doodle Boy” and “You’re a Grand Old Flag.” They have become like folk songs in U.S. culture, and for some, they evoke nostalgia for a bygone time that seems simpler. They originated, however, as showtunes, written for early 20th-century musicals by Broadway legend George M. Cohan, whose statue stands in the heart of the New York theater district. And given their relevance to our current, divisive moment in the United States, they deserve a closer listen.
Cohan had a prolific career as a playwright, composer, lyricist, producer, director and star performer that lasted from the late nineteenth century to his death in 1942, in a period with striking resonances to our own. Developments in communication, mass immigration, and urbanization brought new opportunities but also prompted anxiety about America’s future and who qualified as “real” Americans. Cohan’s shows reflected these debates, turning the Broadway musical into a site for exploring national identity.
Cohan was a third-generation Irish American and grew up during a time of rampant anti-Irish sentiment. He audaciously represented himself as the Yankee Doodle emblem of the nation he sang about, even claiming to be born on the fourth of July. (It was the third — but why let a few hours get in the way of a good story?) Certain critics found him and his shows distasteful, questioning the credibility of his patriotism. They claimed Cohan sold tickets by relying on flag-waving as a cheap gimmick. As a songwriter, they complained, he lacked sophistication. His music drew upon marches and waltzes but also the jaunty syncopation of ragtime, the Black American popular music that some attacked for debasing its listeners, foreshadowing the path trod by jazz, rock’n’roll and hip hop. In an article that circulated in various newspapers in 1911, George M. Cohan was listed as the lowest of lowbrow, along with beer and toothpicks. Lurking, barely disguised, behind these criticisms were racialized and class-based prejudices of the day.
Cohan was unbowed. He embraced the criticism, and in so doing, he not only shaped the American musical but also expanded conceptions of American culture and identity. As immigrants flooded into the United States and many believed that immigrants, as Theodore Roosevelt once put it, “must learn to celebrate . . . the Fourth of July instead of St. Patrick’s Day,” Cohan presented characters who were both patriotic Americans and resolutely Irish. He wrote songs, like “Harrigan,” that brimmed with Irish pride. Being a target of prejudices unfortunately did not keep Cohan from participating in them: he often advocated for the Irish at the expense of characters from other racial and immigrant groups, especially Chinese and Italian Americans, who were depicted as villains using repugnant stereotypes that were all too typical in the early twentieth century.
In 1936, Cohan was awarded a Congressional Gold Medal for his patriotism, with particular mention of “You’re a Grand Old Flag” and the World War I song “Over There.” And today, over one hundred years since their creation, Cohan’s patriotic tunes persist. For some listeners, Cohan’s brand of exuberant patriotism is not only musically but also ideologically dated, relegated to kitsch and increasingly claimed by the political far right. What cannot be denied is that these tunes possess symbolic aural power, a power both Cohan and his critics knew well. Today we see evidence of this power when the songs are deployed to instill patriotism in schoolchildren, or, refashioned as jingoism, to score political points on the campaign trail.
As a researcher and educator I approach these songs as points of inquiry — what did these songs mean for Cohan and his audiences? — and vessels that convey genuine, stirring love for the United States. In the lyrics for “You’re a Grand Old Flag” Cohan writes, “ev’ry heart beats true,” not just the hearts of a certain group or political party.
I’ll be singing to these tunes this Fourth of July and invite you to sing along — and when we sing them, let’s remember their origins, written by an ethnic American, bound up in the often-ugly history of immigration, race, identity and nation-building in the early 20th century. Their history highlights how American patriotism has never been uniform, uncontested or simple.
Elizabeth T. Craft is a professor of musicology at the University of Utah.
Elizabeth T. Craft is a professor of musicology at the University of Utah and author of the recent book “Yankee Doodle Dandy: George M. Cohan and the Broadway Stage” (Oxford University Press). The views expressed in this essay are her own and do not necessarily represent those of the University of Utah.
The Salt Lake Tribune is committed to creating a space where Utahns can share ideas, perspectives and solutions that move our state forward. We rely on your insight to do this. Find out how to share your opinion here, and email us at voices@sltrib.com.