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Woodrow Wilson as I Know Him

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Title: Woodrow Wilson as I Know Him

Author: Joseph P. Tumulty


        
Release date: May 1, 2005 [eBook #8124]
                Most recently updated: December 26, 2020

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOODROW WILSON AS I KNOW HIM ***




E-text prepared by Anne Soulard, Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, Robert
Laporte, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team



WOODROW WILSON AS I KNOW HIM

BY

JOSEPH P. TUMULTY







To the memory of my dear mother Alicia Tumulty whose spirit of generosity,
loyalty, and tolerance I trust will be found in the lines of this book




ACKNOWLEDGMENT


In preparing this volume I have made use of portions of the following
books: "The War The World and Wilson" by George Creel; "What Wilson Did at
Paris," by Ray Stannard Baker; "Woodrow Wilson and His Work" by William E.
Dodd; "The Panama Canal Tolls Controversy" by Hugh Gordon Miller and
Joseph C. Freehoff; "Woodrow Wilson the Man and His Work" by Henry Jones
Ford; "The Real Colonel House" by Arthur D. Howden Smith; "The Foreign
Policy of Woodrow Wilson" by Edgar E. Robinson and Victor J. West. In
addition, I wish to make acknowledgment to the following books for
incidental assistance: "My Four Years in Germany" by James W. Gerard;
"Woodrow Wilson, An Interpretation" by A. Maurice Low; "A People Awakened"
by Charles Reade Bacon; "Woodrow Wilson" by Hester E. Hosford; "What
Really Happened at Paris," edited by Edward Mandell House and Charles
Seymour, and above all, to the public addresses of Woodrow Wilson. I
myself had furnished considerable data for various books on Woodrow Wilson
and have felt at liberty to make liberal use of some portions of these
sources as guide posts for my own narrative.




PREFACE


Woodrow Wilson prefers not to be written about. His enemies may, and of
course will, say what they please, but he would like to have his friends
hold their peace. He seems to think and feel that if he himself can keep
silent while his foes are talking, his friends should be equally stoical.
He made this plain in October, 1920, when he learned that I had slipped
away from my office at the White House one night shortly before the
election and made a speech about him in a little Maryland town, Bethesda.
He did not read the speech, I am sure he has never read it, but the fact
that I had made any sort of speech about him, displeased him. That was one
of the few times in my long association with him that I found him
distinctly cold. He said nothing, but his silence was vocal.

I suspect this book will share the fate of the Bethesda speech, will not
be read by Mr. Wilson. If this seems strange to those who do not know him
personally, I can only say that "Woodrow Wilson is made that way." He
cannot dramatize himself and shrinks from attempts of others to dramatize
him. "I will not write about myself," is his invariable retort to friends
who urge him to publish his own story of the Paris Peace Conference. He
craves the silence from others which he imposes upon himself. He is quite
willing to leave the assessment and interpretation of himself to time and
posterity. Knowing all this I have not consulted him about this book. Yet
I have felt that the book should be written, because I am anxious that his
contemporaries should know him as I have known him, not only as an
individual but also as the advocate of a set of great ideas and as the
leader of great movements. If I can picture him, even imperfectly, as I
have found him to be, both in himself and in his relationship to important
events, I must believe that the portrait will correct some curious
misapprehensions about him.

For instance, there is a prevalent idea, an innocently ignorant opinion in
some quarters, an all too sedulously cultivated report in other quarters,
that he has been uniformly headstrong, impatient of advice, his mind
hermetically closed to counsel from others. This book will expose the
error of that opinion; will show how, in his own words, his mind was "open
and to let," how he welcomed suggestions and criticism. Indeed I fear that
unless the reader ponders carefully what I have written he may glean the
opposite idea, that sometimes the President had to be prodded to action,
and that I represent myself as the chief prodder.

The superficial reader may find countenance lent to this latter view in
the many notes of information and advice which I addressed to the
President and in the record of his subsequent actions which were more or
less in accord with the counsel contained in some of these notes. If the
reader deduces from this the conclusion that I was the instigator of some
of the President's important policies, he will misinterpret the facts and
the President's character and mental processes; if he concludes that I am
trying to represent myself as the instigator he will misunderstand my
motives in publishing these notes.

These motives are: first, to tell the story of my association with Mr.
Wilson, and part of the record is contained in these notes; secondly, to
show what liberty he allowed me to suggest and criticize; how, so far from
being offended, he welcomed counsel. Having this privilege I exercised it.
I conceived it as part of my duty as his secretary and friend to report to
him my own interpretations of facts and public opinion as I gathered these
from newspapers and conversations, and sometimes to suggest modes of
action. These notes were memoranda for my chief's consideration.

The reader will see how frankly critical some of these notes are. The mere
fact that the President permitted me to continue to write to him in a vein
of candour that was frequently brusque and blunt, is the conclusive answer
to the charge that he resented criticism.

Contrary to the misrepresentations, he had from time to time many
advisers. In most instances, I do not possess written reports of what
others said orally and in writing, and therefore in this record, which is
essentially concerned with my own official and personal relations with
him, I may seem to represent myself as a preponderating influence. This is
neither the fact nor my intention. The public acts of Mr. Wilson were
frequently mosaics, made up of his own ideas and those of others. My
written notes were merely stones offered for the mosaic. Sometimes the
stones were rejected, sometimes accepted and shaped by the master builder
into the pattern.

It was a habit of Mr. Wilson's to meditate before taking action, to listen
to advice without comment, frequently without indicating whether or not
the idea broached by others had already occurred to him. We who knew him
best knew that often the idea had occurred to him and had been thought out
more lucidly than any adviser could state it. But he would test his own
views by the touchstone of other minds' reactions to the situations and
problems which he was facing and would get the "slant" of other minds.

He was always ahead of us all in his thinking. An admirer once said: "You
could shut him up in an hermetically sealed room and trust him to reach
the right decision," but as a matter of fact he did not work that way. He
sought counsel and considered it and acted on it or dismissed it according
to his best judgment, for the responsibility for the final action was his,
and he was boldly prepared to accept that responsibility and
conscientiously careful not to abuse it by acting rashly. While he would
on occasion make momentous decisions quickly and decisively, the habitual
character of his mind was deliberative. He wanted all the facts and so far
as possible the contingencies. Younger men like myself could counsel
immediate and drastic action, but even while we were advising we knew that
he would, without haste and without waste, calmly calculate his course.
What, coming from us, were merely words, would, coming from him,
constitute acts and a nation's destiny. He regarded himself as the
"trustee of the people," who should not act until he was sure he was right
and should then act with the decision and finality of fate itself.

Of another misapprehension, namely, that Mr. Wilson lacks human warmth, I
shall let the book speak without much prefatory comment. I have done my
work ill indeed if there does not emerge from the pages a human-hearted
man, a man whose passion it was to serve mankind. In his daily intercourse
with individuals he showed uniform consideration, at times deep
tenderness, though he did not have in his possession the little bag of
tricks which some politicians use so effectively: he did not clap men on
their backs, call them by their first names, and profess to each
individual he met that of all the men in the world this was the man whom
he most yearned to see. Perhaps he was too sincere for that; perhaps by
nature too reserved; but I am convinced that he who reads this book will
feel that he has met a man whose public career was governed not merely by
a great brain, but also by a great heart. I did not invent this character.
I observed him for eleven years.




CONTENTS


PREFACE

CHAPTER
I.        THE POLITICAL LABORATORY
II.       DOING THE POLITICAL CHORES
III.      MY FIRST MEETING WITH THE POLITICAL BOSS
IV.       COLONEL HARVEY ON THE SCENE
V.        THE NEW JERSEY SALIENT
VI.       SOMETHING NEW IN POLITICAL CAMPAIGNS
VII.      THE CRISIS OP THE CAMPAIGN
VIII.     THE END OP THE CAMPAIGN
IX.       A PARTY SPLIT
X.        EXIT THE OLD GUARD
XI.       EXECUTIVE LEADERSHIP
XII.      COLONEL HARVEY
XIII.     THE "COCKED HAT" INCIDENT
XIV.      WILSON AND THE OLD GUARD
XV.       MR. BRYAN ISSUES A CHALLENGE
XVI.      THE BALTIMORE CONVENTION
XVII.     FACING A SOLEMN RESPONSIBILITY
XVIII.    WILLIAM F. McCOMBS
XIX.      THE INAUGURATION OF 1913
XX.       MEXICO
XXI.      PANAMA TOLLS
XXII.     REFORMING THE CURRENCY
XXIII.    RENOMINATED
XXIV.     THE ADAMSON LAW
XXV.      GERMAN PROPAGANDA
XXVI.     WILSON AND HUGHES
XXVII.    NEUTRALITY
XXVIII.   PREPAREDNESS
XXIX.     THE GREAT DECLARATION
XXX.      CARRYING ON
XXXI.     THE PEN IS MIGHTIER THAN THE SWORD
XXXII.    COLONEL ROOSEVELT AND GENERAL WOOD
XXXIII.   WILSON THE WARRIOR
XXXIV.    GERMANY CAPITULATES
XXXV.     APPEAL FOR A DEMOCRATIC CONGRESS
XXXVI.    THE GREAT ADVENTURE
XXXVII.   WILSON--THE LONE HAND
XXXVIII.  JAPAN--SHANTUNG
XXXIX.    IRELAND
XL.       PROHIBITION
XLI.      THE TREATY FIGHT
XLII.     THE WESTERN TRIP
XLIII.    RESERVATIONS
XLIV.     WILSON--THE HUMAN BEING
XLV.      THE SAN FRANCISCO CONVENTION
XLVI.      THE LAST DAY

APPENDIX

INDEX




WOODROW WILSON AS I KNOW HIM




CHAPTER I

THE POLITICAL LABORATORY


My introduction to politics was in the Fifth Ward of Jersey City, New
Jersey, which for many years was the "Bloody Angle" of politics of the
city in which I lived. Always Democratic, it had been for many years the
heart and centre of what New Jersey Democrats were pleased to call the
great Gibraltar of Democracy. The ward in which I lived was made up of the
plainest sort of people, a veritable melting pot of all races, but with a
predominance of Irish, Germans, and Italians, between whom it was, like
ancient Gaul, divided into three parts.

My dear father, Philip Tumulty, a wounded soldier of the Civil War, after
serving an apprenticeship as an iron moulder under a delightful, whole-
souled Englishman, opened a little grocery store on Wayne Street, Jersey
City, where were laid the foundation stones of his modest fortune and
where, by his fine common sense, poise, and judgment, he soon established
himself as the leader of a Democratic faction in that neighbourhood. This
modest little place soon became a political laboratory for me. In the
evening, around the plain, old-fashioned counters, seated upon barrels and
boxes, the interesting characters of the neighbourhood gathered,
representing as they did the leading active political forces in that
quaint cosmopolitan community.

No matter how far back my memory turns, I cannot recall when I did not
hear politics discussed--not ward politics only, but frequently the
politics of the nation and the world. In that grocery store, from the lips
of the plainest folk who came there, were carried on serious discussions
of the tariff, the money question, our foreign relations, and all phases
of the then famous Venezuelan question, which in those days threatened to
set two continents on fire.

The make-up of the little "cabinet" or group which surrounded my father
was most interesting. There was Mr. Alexander Hamill, the father of
Congressman Hamill of Jersey City, a student of Queen's College in Ireland
and who afterward taught in the National Schools of Ireland, a well-read,
highly cultured, broad-minded man of affairs; and dear Uncle Jimmie
Kelter, almost a centenarian, whose fine old gray hair gave him the
appearance of a patriarch. Uncle Jimmie nightly revelled in the recital to
those who were present as ready listeners, his experience when he was
present at a session of the House of Parliament in London and heard the
famous Irish statesman, Daniel O'Connell, denounce England's attitude of
injustice toward Catholic emancipation. He loved to regale the little
group that encircled him by reciting from memory the great speech of
Robert Emmett from the dock, and excerpts from the classic speeches of the
leading Irish orators like Curran, Sheridan, and Fox.

While these discussions in the little store wended their uneasy way along,
a spark of humour was often injected into them by the delightful banter of
a rollicking, good-natured Irishman, a big two-fisted fellow, generous-
hearted and lovable, whom we affectionately called "Big Phil." I can see
him now, standing like a great pyramid in the midst of the little group,
every now and then throwing his head back in good-natured abandon,
recounting wild and fantastic tales about the fairies and banshees of the
Old Land from whence he had come. When his listeners would turn away, with
skepticism written all over their countenances, he would turn to me, whose
youthful enthusiasm made me an easy victim upon which to work his magic
spell in the stories which he told of the wonders of the Old Land across
the sea.

I loved these delightful little gatherings in whose deliberations my dear
father played so notable a part. Those kind folk, now off the stage, never
allowed the spirit of provincialism to guide their judgment or their
attitude toward great public affairs. I recall with pleasure their
tolerance, their largeness of view, and fine magnanimity which raised
every question they discussed to a high level. They were a very simple
folk, but independent in their political actions and views. Into that
little group of free, independent political thinkers would often come a
warning from the Democratic boss of the city that they must follow with
undivided allegiance the organization's dictum in political matters and
not seek to lead opinion in the community in which they lived. Supremely
indifferent were these fine old chaps to those warnings, and unmindful of
political consequences. They felt that they had left behind them a land of
oppression and they would not submit to tyrannous dictation in this free
land of ours, no matter who sought to exert it.

In this political laboratory I came in contact with the raw materials of
political life that, as an older man, I was soon to see moulded into
political action in a larger way in the years to come. I found in politics
that the great policies of a nation are simply the policies and passions
of the ward extended. In the little discussions that took place in that
store, I was, even as a youth, looking on from the side-lines, struck by
the fine, wholesome, generous spirit of my own father. Never would he
permit, for instance, in the matter of the discussion of Ireland--so dear
to his heart--a shade of resentment or bitterness toward England to
influence his judgment in the least, for he believed that no man could be
a just judge in any matter where his mind was filled with passion; and so
in this matter, the subject of such fierce controversy, as in every other,
he held a judgment free and far away from his passionate antagonisms. I
found in the simple life of the community where I was brought up the same
human things, in a small way, that I was subsequently to come in contact
with in a larger way in the whirligig of political life in the Capitol of
the Nation. I found the same relative bigness and the same relative
smallness, the same petty jealousies and rivalries which manifest
themselves in the larger fields of a great nation's life; the same good
nature, and the same deep humanity expressing itself in the same way, only
differently apparelled.

One of the most interesting places in the world for the study of human
character is the country store or the city grocery. I was able as a boy
standing behind the counter of the little grocery store to study people;
and intimately to become acquainted with them and their daily lives and
the lives of their women and children. I never came in contact with their
daily routine, their joys and sorrows, their bitter actualities and deep
tragedies, without feeling rise in me a desire to be of service. I
remember many years ago, seated behind the counter of my father's grocery
store, with what passionate resentment I read the vivid headlines of the
metropolitan newspapers and the ghastly accounts of the now famous
Homestead Strike of 1892. Of course, I came to realize in after years that
the headlines of a newspaper are not always in agreement with the actual
facts; but I do recall how intently I pored over every detail of this
tragic story of industrial war and how, deep in my heart, I resented the
efforts of a capitalistic system that would use its power in this unjust,
inhuman way. Little did I realize as I pored over the story of this
tragedy in that far-off day that some time, seated at my desk at the White
House in the office of the secretary to the President of the United
States, I would have the pleasure of meeting face to face the leading
actor in this lurid drama, Mr. Andrew Carnegie himself, and of hearing
from his own lips a human and intelligent recital of the events which
formed the interesting background of the Homestead Strike.




CHAPTER II

DOING THE POLITICAL CHORES


For the young man who wishes to rise in the politics of a great city there
is no royal road to preferment but only a plain path of modest service
uncomplainingly rendered. Of course, there seem to be exceptions to this
rule. At times it is possible for the scion of a great family to rise to
temporary distinction in politics without a preliminary course in the
school of local politics, for as a Democratic boss once said to me: "Great
family names are fine window-dressers," but in my own experience I have
seen the disappointing end of careers thus begun and have found that
sometimes after a great name has been temporarily used to meet certain
political emergencies, the would-be politician is quickly thrust aside to
make way for the less pretentious but more capable man. There is nothing
permanent or lasting about a place in politics gained in this adventitious
way. Of course, there sometimes come to high office men from military
careers, or men, like the distinguished subject of this book, from fields
apparently remote from practical politics, but such successes are due to
an appealing personal force, or to exceptional genius which the young
aspirant had better not assume that he possesses. The general rule holds
good that a political apprenticeship is as necessary and valuable as an
industrial apprenticeship.

My first official connection with politics was as the financial secretary
of the Fifth Ward Democratic Club of Jersey City. My father had told me
that if I intended to play an active part in politics, it would be
necessary to begin modestly at the bottom of the ladder, to do the
political chores, as it were, which are a necessary part of ward
organization work. I recall those days with singular pleasure, for my work
gave me an unusual opportunity to meet the privates in the ranks and to
make friendships that were permanent.

The meetings of the Club were held each week in a modest club house, with
part of the meeting given over to addresses made by what were then
considered the leading men in the Democratic party. It is queer how the
average political worker favours the senator, or the ex-judge, or the
ex-Congressman, as a speaker on these occasions. Ex-Congressman Gray, of
Texas (I doubt whether there ever was a congressman by that name), would
often be the headliner and he could be depended upon to draw a crowded and
enthusiastic house. The knowledge and experience I gained at these
inspirational meetings were mighty helpful to me in the political life I
had carved out for myself. I found that when you had convinced these
plain, everyday fellows that, although you were a college man, you were
not necessarily a highbrow, they were willing to serve you to the end. It
was a valuable course in a great university. It was not very long until I
was given my first opportunity, in 1896, to make my first political speech
in behalf of Mr. Bryan, then the Democratic candidate for President. I was
not able at that time to disentangle the intricacies of the difficult
money problems, but I endeavoured, imperfectly at least, in the speeches I
made, to lay my finger on what I considered the great moral issue that lay
behind the silver question in that memorable campaign--the attempt by
eastern financial interests to dominate the Government of the United
States.

After my apprenticeship, begun as secretary of the Fifth Ward Democratic
Club, an incident happened which caused a sudden rise in my political
stock. At a county convention I was given the opportunity of making the
nominating speech for the Fifth Ward's candidate for street and water
commissioner--a bricklayer and a fine fellow--who was opposing the machine
candidate. It was a real effort on my part and caused me days and nights
of worry and preparation. Indeed, it seemed to me to be the great moment
of my life. I vividly recall the incidents of what to me was a memorable
occasion. I distinctly remember that on the night of the Convention, with
the delegates from my ward, I faced an unfriendly and hostile audience,
our candidate having aroused the opposition of the boss and his
satellites. While I felt that the attitude of the Convention was one of
opposition to our candidate, there was no evidence of unfriendliness or
hostility to myself as the humble spokesman of the Fifth Ward. When I
stood up to speak I realized that I had to "play up" to the spirit of
generosity which is always latent in a crowd such as I was addressing. I
believe I won, although my candidate, unfortunately, lost. My Irish
buoyancy and good nature brought me over the line. I felt that the
audience in the gallery and the delegates on the floor were with me, but
unfortunately for my cause, the boss, who was always the dominating
influence of the Convention, was against me, and so we lost in the
spirited fight we made. In this first skirmish of my political career I
made up my mind to meet defeat with good grace and, if possible,
smilingly, and no sore spot or resentment over our defeat ever showed
itself in my attitude toward the men who saw fit to oppose us. Evidently,
the boss and his friends appreciated this attitude, for it was reported to
me shortly after the Convention that I was to be given recognition and by
the boss's orders would soon be placed on the eligible list for future
consideration in connection with a place on the legislative ticket.

One lesson I learned was not to be embittered by defeat. Since then I have
seen too many cases of men so disgruntled at being worsted in their first
battles that their political careers ended when they should have been just
beginning.




CHAPTER III

MY FIRST MEETING WITH THE POLITICAL BOSS


After serving my apprenticeship as a ward worker, devoted friends from my
home ward urged my name upon the Democratic leader, Mr. Robert Davis, for
a place upon the Democratic legislative ticket for Hudson County. I had
grown to have a deep regard and affection for this fine old fellow. While
he was a boss in every sense, maintaining close relations with the Public
Service Corporations of the state, he had an engaging human side. He never
pretended nor deceived. With his friends he was open, frank, generous, and
honourable in all his dealings, and especially kind to and considerate of
the young men who became part of his working force. With his political
enemies he was fair and decent. Many a time during a legislative session,
when I was a member of the House of Assembly, word would come to us of the
boss's desire that we should support this or that bill, behind which
certain corporate interests lay. The orders, however, were clean and
without a threat of any kind. He took no unfair advantage and made no
reprisals when we failed to carry out his desires.

While a member of the New Jersey Legislature, the name of Woodrow Wilson
began to be first discussed in the political world of New Jersey. It came
about in this way: By reason of the normal Republican majority of the
state the nomination by the Legislature in those days of a Democratic
candidate for the United States senatorship was a mere compliment, a
courtesy, a very meagre one indeed, and was generally paid to the old war
horses of democracy like James E. Martine, of Plainfield, New Jersey; but
the appearance of the doughty Colonel Harvey on the scene, at the 1907
session of the New Jersey Legislature, gave a new turn to this custom. A
request was made by Colonel Harvey and diplomatically conveyed by his
friends to the Democratic members of the Legislature, that the honorary
nomination for the United States senatorship at this session of the
Legislature should be given to President Wilson of Princeton. It may be
added that I learned years afterward that Mr. Wilson was not a party to
Colonel Harvey's plans; that once he even sent a friend as an emissary to
explain to the Colonel that Mr. Wilson did not believe that the use of his
name in connection with political office was a service to him or to
Princeton University.

The suggestion that Woodrow Wilson be given the nomination was hotly
resented by young men like myself in the Legislature. Frankly, I led the
opposition to the man I was afterward to serve for eleven years in the
capacity of private secretary. The basis of my opposition to Mr. Wilson
for this empty honour was the rumour that had been industriously
circulated in the state House and elsewhere, that there was, as Mr. Dooley
says, "a plan afoot" by the big interests of New Jersey and New York to
nominate Woodrow Wilson for the senatorship and then nominate him for
governor of the state as a preliminary start for the Presidency. I
remember now, with the deepest chagrin and regret, having bitterly
assailed Woodrow Wilson's candidacy in a Democratic caucus which I
attended and how I denounced him for his alleged opposition to labour. In
view of my subsequent intimacy with Mr. Wilson and the knowledge gained of
his great heart and his big vision in all matters affecting labour, I
cannot now point with pride to the speech I then made attacking him. I am
sure the dear doctor, away off in Princeton, never even heard of my
opposition to him, although in my conceit I thought the state reverberated
with the report of my unqualified and bitter opposition to him. In my poor
vanity I thought that perhaps what I had said in my speech of opposition
to him had reached the cloisters of Princeton. As a matter of fact, he
never heard about me or my speech, and afterward in the years of our
association he "joshed" me about my opposition to him and would often make
me very uncomfortable by recounting to his friends at the White House how
even his own secretary had opposed him when his name was first under
consideration for the United States senatorship in New Jersey.

To me was given the honour of nominating at a joint session of the Senate
and House Assembly the candidate opposed to Woodrow Wilson for the Senate,
the Honourable Edwin E. Stevens. I recall the comparison I made between
the claims of Colonel Stevens, the strict party man, and those of Woodrow
Wilson, the Princeton professor. The speech nominating Woodrow Wilson at
the joint session of the Legislature was the shortest on record. It was
delivered by a big generous fellow, John Baader, one of the Smith-Nugent
men from Essex County. When Essex County was called, he slowly rose to his
feet and almost shamefacedly addressing the Speaker of the House, said,
tremulously: "I nominate for the United States Senate Woodrow Wilson, of
Princeton," and then, amid silence, sat down. No applause greeted the name
of the man he nominated. It seemed as if the college professor had no
friends in the Legislature except the man who had put his name forward for
the nomination.

Colonel Stevens won the honorary nomination and Woodrow Wilson was
defeated. Colonel Harvey, disgruntled but not discouraged, packed up his
kit and left on the next train for New York.




CHAPTER IV

COLONEL HARVEY ON THE SCENE


Although the intrepid Colonel Harvey was defeated in the first skirmish to
advance the cause of Woodrow Wilson, he continued to pursue his purpose to
force his personal choice upon the New Jersey Democracy. The approaching
gubernatorial election in 1910 gave the Colonel his opportunity and he
took full advantage of it.

Rumours began to circulate that the machine run by Davis, Smith, and Ross,
the great Democratic triumvirate of the state, was determined to nominate
the Princeton president at any cost. Young men like Mark Sullivan, John
Treacy, and myself, all of Hudson County, representing the liberal wing of
our party, were bitterly opposed to this effort. We suspected that the
"Old Gang" was up to its old trick of foisting upon the Democrats of the
state a tool which they could use for their own advantage, who, under the
name of the Democratic party, would do the bidding of the corporate
interests which had, under both the "regular" organizations, Democratic
and Republican, found in New Jersey their most nutritious pastures. At a
meeting held at the Lawyers' Club in New York, younger Democrats, like
Judge Silzer of Middlesex and myself, "plighted our political troth" and
pledged our undying opposition to the candidacy of the Princeton
president. As a result of our conferences we set in motion the progressive
machinery of the state in an intensive effort to force the nomination of
Judge Silzer in opposition to that of Woodrow Wilson.

As soon as the Democratic boss of Hudson County, Bob Davis, one of the
leaders in the Wilson movement in North Jersey, was apprized of the
proposed action on our part, he set about to head it off, and as part of
his plan of opposition he sent for me in an effort to wean me away from
the Silzer candidacy. I refused to yield. Upon being interrogated by me as
to his interest in Woodrow Wilson, Boss Davis stated that if we nominated
Woodrow Wilson there would be a big campaign fund put up for him by Moses
Taylor Pyne, a trustee of Princeton University. Never before was the
ignorance of a boss made more manifest. As a matter of fact, at that very
time there was no more implacable foe of Woodrow Wilson in the state of
New Jersey than Moses Taylor Pyne, who headed the opposition to Mr. Wilson
in the Princeton fight.

Years after this incident the President and I often laughed at what must
have been the surprise and discomfiture of Boss Davis when he finally
learned the facts as to Moses Taylor Pyne's real feelings toward Woodrow
Wilson. Previous to the gubernatorial campaign I asked Boss Davis if he
thought Woodrow Wilson would make a good governor. His reply was
characteristic of the point of view of the boss in dealing with these
matters of moment to the people of the state. "How the hell do I know
whether he'll make a good governor?" he replied; "he will make a good
candidate, and that is the only thing that interests me."

Shortly after, those of us who banded together to oppose the bosses in
their efforts to force Doctor Wilson upon us began to the feel pressure of
the organization's influence. Many of our friends left us in despair and
in fear of the power of the machine. The movement toward Woodrow Wilson in
the state was soon in full swing. The Davis-Smith-Nugent-Ross machine was
in fine working order on the day and the night of the Convention.

I was not even a delegate to the Convention, but I was present and kept in
close touch by contact with my friends with every phase of the convention
fight. Colonel Harvey was again on the scene as the generalissimo of the
Wilson forces, quietly and stealthily moving about, lining up his forces
for the memorable battle of the morrow. There was bitter but unorganized
opposition to the favourite son of the state machine, Woodrow Wilson. The
Convention itself presented an unusual situation and demonstrated more
than anything I ever saw the power of the "Old Gang" to do the thing its
masters had in mind. As I look back upon the great event of this
convention, the nomination of Woodrow Wilson for the governorship of New
Jersey, I feel that destiny was inscrutably engaged there, working in
mysterious ways its wonders to perform, working perhaps through strange,
incongruous instrumentalities to bring the man of destiny into action, led
by those who were opposed to everything Woodrow Wilson stood for, opposed
by those who were yearning for and striving for just the dawn of political
liberalism that his advent in politics heralded. The conflict of the
Trenton Convention about to be enacted was an illustration of the poet's
line, "Where ignorant armies clash by night." The successful side of the
Convention was fighting for what they least wanted; the defeated against
what they most wanted. Here in this convention, in truth, were in
aggressive action the incongruities of politics and in full display were
witnessed the sardonic contrasts between the visible and the invisible
situations in politics. All the Old Guard moving with Prussian precision
to the nomination of the man who was to destroy for a time the machine
rule in New Jersey and inaugurate a new national era in political
liberalism while all the liberal elements of the state, including fine old
Judge Westcott of Camden and young men like myself were sullen, helpless.
Every progressive Democrat in the Convention was opposed to the nomination
of the Princetonian, and every standpatter and Old Guardsman was in favour
of Woodrow Wilson. On the convention floor, dominating the whole affair,
stood ex-Senator James Smith, Jr., of New Jersey, the spokesman of the
"highbrow" candidate for governor, controlling the delegates from south
and west Jersey. Handsome, cool, dignified, he rose from the floor of the
convention hall, and in rich, low tones, seconded the nomination of the
man "he had never met," the man he would not "presume" to claim
acquaintance with, the man whose life had lain in other fields than his.
Very close to him, "taking his orders," and acting upon every suggestion
that came to him, sat Jim Nugent, grim, big-jawed, the giant full-back of
Smith's invincible team, the rising star of machine politics in New
Jersey. Down the aisle sat the "Little Napoleon" of Hudson County, Bob
Davis, wearing a sardonic smile on his usually placid face, with his big
eyes riveted upon those in the Convention who were fighting desperately
and against great odds the effort of the state machine to nominate
President Wilson. Across the aisle from me sat "Plank-Shad" Thompson, of
Gloucester, big and debonair, a thoroughly fine fellow socially, but
always ready to act upon and carry out every tip that came to him from the
master minds in the Convention--Davis and Smith.

These were the leading actors in this political drama. Behind the lines,
in the "offing," was the Insurgent Group, young men like Mark Sullivan and
John Treacy of Hudson, stout defenders of the liberal wing in the
Convention, feeling sullen, beaten, and hopelessly impotent against the
mass attack of the machine forces. What a political medley was present in
this convention--plebeian and patrician, machine man and political
idealist--all gathered together and fighting as leading characters and
supernumeraries in the political drama about to be enacted.

Not three men outside of the leading actors in this great political drama
had ever seen the Princeton professor, although many had doubtless read
his speeches. I watched every move from the side-lines. The bosses, with
consummate precision, moved to the doing of the job in hand, working their
spell of threats and coercion upon a beaten, sullen, spiritless body of
delegates. One could easily discern that there was no heart in the
delegates for the job on hand. To them, the active forces in the
Convention, the Princeton president was, indeed, a man of mystery. Who
could solve the riddle of this political Sphinx? Who was this man Wilson?
What were his purposes? What his ideals? These questions were troubling
and perplexing the delegates. Colonel Harvey, the commander-in-chief of
the Wilson forces, when interrogated by us, refused to answer. How
masterfully the Old Guard staged every act of the drama, and thus brought
about the nomination of the Princeton president. The Convention is at an
end. Wilson has been nominated by a narrow margin; the delegates, bitter
and resentful, are about to withdraw; the curtain is about to roll down on
the last scene. The chairman, Mr. John R. Hardin, the distinguished lawyer
of Essex, is about to announce the final vote, when the clerk of the
Convention, in a tone of voice that reached every part of the hall,
announces in a most dramatic fashion: "We have just received word that Mr.
Wilson, the candidate for the governorship, _and the next President of the
United States_, has received word of his nomination; has left Princeton,
and is now on his way to the Convention." Excellent stage work. The voice
of the secretary making this dramatic statement was the voice of Jacob,
but the deft hand behind this clever move was that of Colonel Harvey. This
announcement literally sets the Convention on fire. Bedlam breaks loose.
The only sullen and indifferent ones in the hall are those of us who met
defeat a few hours before. For us, at least, the mystery is about to be
solved. The Princeton professor has left the shades of the University to
enter the Elysian Fields of politics.

At the time the secretary's announcement was made I was in the rear of the
convention hall, trying to become reconciled to our defeat. I then wended
my weary way to the stage and stood close to the band, which was busy
entertaining the crowd until the arrival of Mr. Wilson. I wanted to obtain
what newspaper men call a "close-up" of this man of mystery.

What were my own feelings as I saw the candidate quietly walk to the
speakers' stand? I was now to see almost face to face for the first time
the man I had openly and bitterly denounced only a few hours before. What
reaction of regret or pleasure did I experience as I beheld the vigorous,
clean-cut, plainly garbed man, who now stood before me, cool and smiling?
My first reaction of regret came when he uttered these words:

    I feel the responsibility of the occasion. Responsibility is
    proportionate to opportunity. It is a great opportunity to serve the
    State and Nation. I did not seek this nomination, I have made no
    pledge and have given no promises. If elected, I am left absolutely
    free to serve you with all singleness of purpose. It is a new era when
    these things can be said, and in connection with this I feel that the
    dominant idea of the moment is the responsibility of deserving. I will
    have to serve the state very well in order to deserve the honour of
    being at its head.... Did you ever experience the elation of a great
    hope, that you desire to do right because it is right and without
    thought of doing it for your own interest? At that period your hopes
    are unselfish. This in particular is a day of unselfish purpose for
    Democracy. The country has been universally misled and the people have
    begun to believe that there is something radically wrong. And now we
    should make this era of hope one of realization through the Democratic
    party.

I had another reaction of regret when he said:

"Government is not a warfare of interests. We shall not gain our ends by
heat and bitterness." How simple the man, how modest, how cultured!
Attempting none of the cheap "plays" of the old campaign orator, he
impressively proceeded with his thrilling speech, carrying his audience
with him under the spell of his eloquent words. How tense the moment! His
words, spoken in tones so soft, so fine, in voice so well modulated, so
heart-stirring. Only a few sentences are uttered and our souls are stirred
to their very depths. It was not only what he said, but the simple heart-
stirring way in which he said it. The great climax came when he uttered
these moving words: "The future is not for parties 'playing politics' but
for measures conceived in the largest spirit, pushed by parties whose
leaders are statesmen, not demagogues, who love not their offices but
their duty and their opportunity for service. We are witnessing a
renaissance of public spirit, a reawakening of sober public opinion, a
revival of the power of the people, the beginning of an age of thoughtful
reconstruction that makes our thoughts hark back to the age in which
democracy was set up in America. With the new age we shall show a new
spirit. We shall serve justice and candour and all things that make, for
the right. Is not our own party disciplined and made ready for this great
task? Shall we not forget ourselves in making it the instrument of
righteousness for the state and for the nation?"

After this climax there was a short pause. "Go on, go on," eagerly cried
the crowd. The personal magnetism of the man, his winning smile, so frank
and so sincere, the light of his gray eyes, the fine poise of his well-
shaped head, the beautiful rhythm of his vigorous sentences, held the men
in the Convention breathless under their mystic spell. Men all about me
cried in a frenzy: "Thank God, at last, a leader has come!"

Then, the great ending. Turning to the flag that hung over the speakers'
stand, he said, in words so impressive as to bring almost a sob from his
hearers:

    When I think of the flag which our ships carry, the only touch of
    colour about them, the only thing that moves as if it had a settled
    spirit in it--in their solid structure, it seems to me I see alternate
    strips of parchment upon which are written the rights of liberty and
    justice and strips of blood spilled to vindicate those rights and
    then--in the corner--a prediction of the blue serene into which every
    nation may swim which stands for these great things.

The speech is over. Around me there is a swirling mass of men whose hearts
had been touched by the great speech which is just at an end. Men stood
about me with tears streaming from their eyes. Realizing that they had
just stood in the presence of greatness, it seemed as if they had been
lifted out of the selfish miasma of politics, and, in the spirit of the
Crusaders, were ready to dedicate themselves to the cause of liberating
their state from the bondage of special interests.

As I turned to leave the convention hall there stood at my side old John
Crandall, of Atlantic City, like myself a bitter, implacable foe of
Woodrow Wilson, in the Convention. I watched him intently to see what
effect the speech had had upon him. For a minute he was silent, as if in a
dream, and then, drawing himself up to his full height, with a cynical
smile on his face, waving his hat and cane in the air, and at the same
time shaking his head in a self-accusing way, yelled at the top of his
voice, "I am sixty-five years old, and still a damn fool!"




CHAPTER V

THE NEW JERSEY SALIENT


No campaign in New Jersey caused so great an interest as the gubernatorial
campaign of 1910. The introduction of a Princeton professor into the
political melee in New Jersey had given a novel touch to what ordinarily
would have been a routine affair. The prologue to the great drama, the
various scenes of which were now to unfold before the voters of the state,
had been enacted at the Democratic Convention at Trenton under the
masterly direction of the members of the Democratic Old Guard of the
state. New Jersey had long been noted throughout the country as the
"Mother of Trusts", and the nesting place of Privilege. Through their
alliance and partnership with the political bosses of both parties the so-
called corporate interests had been for many years successful, against the
greatest pressure of public opinion, in blocking the passage of
progressive legislation.

Liberal-minded men in the state had for many years been carrying on an
agitation for the enactment into law of legislation that would make
possible the following great needs:

  1. The passage of a Direct Primary Act.
  2. The passage of an Employers' Liability Act.
  3. The regulation of Public Utilities.
  4. The passage of a Corrupt Practices Act.

These were matters within the scope of state legislation, and to these was
added an agitation for a fifth reform, which, of course, could be
accomplished only through an amendment to the Constitution of the United
States, the election of United States senators by vote of the people.

In the old days in New Jersey, now happily gone, the days when the
granting of special corporation charters was the vogue, a sort of
political suzerainty was set up by Railroad and Public Service interests.
Every election was, in its last analysis, a solemn referendum upon the
question as to which corporate interest should control legislation--
whether the Pennsylvania Railroad, whose master mind was the Republican
leader of the state, United States Senator Sewall, or the Public Service
interests, whose votaries and friends were Senator Smith of New Jersey,
and Milan Ross, Sr., of Middlesex County.

While these corporate interests fought among themselves over the matter of
a United States senatorship or the governorship of a state, they were at
one in their unrelenting, bitter, and highly organized opposition to the
passage of what in this day we call by the highly dignified name of Social
Welfare Legislation. The voices of those liberal-minded men and women of
the state, who, year after year, fought for this legislation, were like
voices crying in the wilderness. An illustration of corporate opposition
was the unrelenting attitude of the Special Interest group of the state to
the passage of the Employers' Liability Act. Every decent, progressive,
humane man in the state felt that the old, barbaric, Fellow-Servant
doctrine should be changed and that there should be substituted for it a
more humane, wholesome, modern doctrine. Nearly every state in the Union
had already recognized the injustice of the old rule, but the privileged
interests in New Jersey could not be moved in their bitter and implacable
opposition to it, and for over half a century they had succeeded in
preventing its enactment into law. Progressives or New Idea Republicans,
high in the councils of that party, had fought with their Democratic
brethren to pass this legislation, but always without result. At last
there came a revolt in the Republican party, brought about and led by
sturdy Republicans like Everett Colby of Essex, and William P. Martin of
the same county; George Record and Mark M. Fagan of my own county, Hudson.
Out of this split came the establishment in the ranks of the Republican
party itself of a faction which called itself the New Idea branch of the
Republican party. The campaign for humane legislation within the ranks of
the G.O.P. was at last begun in real fighting fashion. It was the
irrepressible conflict between the old and the new, between those who
believed human rights are superior to and take precedence over property
rights. The conflict could not be stayed; its leaders could not be
restrained. These men, Colby, Record, Martin, and Fagan, were the sowers
of the Progressive seed which Woodrow Wilson, by his genius for leadership
and constructive action along humane lines, was soon to harvest. His
candidacy, therefore, admirably fitted into the interesting situation.

When the convention that nominated Woodrow Wilson had adjourned, a
convention wholly dominated by reactionary bosses, it seemed as if
progress and every fine thing for which the Progressives had worked had
been put finally to sleep. Behind the selection of the Princetonian and
his candidacy lay the Old Guard who thought the Professor could be used as
a shield for their strategy. The Progressives, both Democratic and
Republican, had witnessed the scenes enacted at the Democratic Convention
at Trenton with breaking hearts. They were about to lose hope. They did
not know that the candidate had at the outset served notice on the Old
Guard that if he were nominated he must be a free man to do nobody's
bidding, to serve no interests except those of the people of the state;
but the Old Guard had not published this.

The Republican candidate, nominated at the time Woodrow Wilson was
selected, was a most pleasant, kindly, genial man from Passaic, Mr. Vivian
M. Lewis, who had just retired as banking commissioner for the state. By
clever plays to the Progressives he had, at least temporarily, brought
together the various progressive elements of the state. This movement
apparently was aided by the Democratic candidate's reluctance in the early
days of the campaign to speak out boldly against the domination of the
Democratic party by the bosses or the Old Guard.




CHAPTER VI

SOMETHING NEW IN POLITICAL CAMPAIGNS


Woodrow Wilson opened his gubernatorial campaign with a speech in Jersey
City, my home town. It was a distinct disappointment to those who attended
the meeting. His speech in accepting the nomination had touched us deeply
and had aroused in us great expectations, but after the Jersey City speech
we were depressed in spirit, for it seemed to us that he was evading the
real issues of the campaign. I was most anxious to meet the candidate and
give him, if he invited it, my impressions of this speech. A dinner given
to complete the ceremonies attendant upon the purchase of the Caldwell
residence of Grover Cleveland gave me the first opportunity to meet the
president of Princeton in an intimate way. Mr. Wilson's first wife, a most
delightful woman, made the introduction possible. As I fondly look back
upon this meeting, I vividly recall my impressions of the man who had just
been nominated for the governorship of the state in a convention in which
I had bitterly opposed him.

The democratic bearing of the man, his warmth of manner, charm, and kindly
bearing were the first things that attracted me to him. There was no
coldness or austerity about him, nor was he what the politicians would
call "high-browish." He impressed me as a plain, unaffected, affable
gentleman, who was most anxious to receive advice and suggestion from any
quarter. He made us doubly welcome by saying that he had heard a great
deal of favourable comment about the work of Judge Sullivan and myself in
the Legislature. This made us feel perfectly at home, and this frank
manner of dealing with us opened the way for the suggestions we desired to
make to him as to the attitude we younger Democrats thought he should
assume on what we believed were the vital, progressive issues of the
campaign.

When he was informed that I was present at his first meeting a few nights
before in Jersey City, he came over to me and in a most friendly way said:
"What did you really think of my speech?" For a moment I was embarrassed,
and yet the frankness of the man was compelling and so I said: "Doctor, do
you really desire an honest opinion of that speech? I really want to serve
you but I can do so only by speaking frankly." He replied: "That is what I
most desire." "Well," I said, "your speech was most disappointing." I
stopped suddenly, feeling that I had done enough damage to the Professor's
feelings. But he urged: "Please tell me what your criticism is. What I
most need is honesty and frankness. You cannot hurt my feelings by
truthfully expressing your opinion. Don't forget that I am an amateur at
this game and need advice and guidance." Encouraged by this suggestion, I
proceeded to tell him what I considered the principal defects of his
opening speech at Jersey City. I told him that there was a lack of
definiteness in it which gave rise to the impression that he was trying to
evade a discussion of the moral issues of the campaign, among them, of
major importance, being the regulation of Public Utilities and the passage
of an Employers' Liability Act. Briefly sketching for him our legislative
situation, I gave him the facts with reference to those large measures of
public interest; how, for many years, in face of constant agitation, the
Old Guard had prevented the enactment of these measures into law, and how,
therefore, his failure to discuss these matters in his first speech had
caused a grave feeling of unrest in the progressive ranks of both parties
in New Jersey.

[Illustration:

    The White House
      Washington

    Cornish, N. H.,
    July 3, 1915

    My dear Tumulty:

    I am heartily obliged to you for your telegrams. It is characteristic
    of you to keep my mind free by such messages. I am really having a
    most refreshing and rewarding time and am very thankful to get it. I
    hope that you are not having depressing weather in Washington and that
    you are finding it possible to make satisfactory arrangements for the
    family, so that we can have the pleasure of having you with us at the
    White House when I get back.

    With warmest messages from us all,
      Affectionately yours,

    (signed)
    Woodrow Wilson

    Hon. Joseph P. Tumulty
    Washington, D.C.

This letter reveals the warm personal relations between the President and
his secretary.]

He listened with keen attention and then modestly remarked: "I value very
highly this tip and you may rest assured I shall cover these matters in my
next speech. I meant that speech to be general."

In my ignorance of things past I did not know that the candidate had
himself written the platform adopted by the Trenton Convention, and in my
ignorance of the future I did not then know that one of the boldest and
most remarkable political campaigns in America was to be conducted on that
platform, and that after the election and inauguration of the nominee the
chief business of the legislation was destined to be the enactment into
law of each of the planks of the platform, a complete and itemized
fulfilment of preëlection promises, unusual in the history of American
politics. At the time of my first conversation with the nominee I only
knew that the Convention had been dominated by the reactionary elements in
the party, that under this domination it had stolen the thunder of the
progressive elements of the party and of the New Idea Republicans, and
that the platform had been practically ignored by the candidate in his
first campaign speech. In these circumstances, and smarting as I was under
the recollection of recent defeat, it is not strange that I thought I
detected the old political ruse of dressing the wolf in sheep's clothing,
of using handsome pledges as a mask to deceive the gullible, and that I
assumed that this scholarly amateur in politics was being used for their
own purposes by masters and veterans in the old game of thimblerig.

The candidate soon struck his gait and astonished me and all New Jersey
with the vigour, frankness, and lucidity of his speeches of exposition and
appeal. No campaign in years in New Jersey had roused such universal
interest. There was no mistaking the character and enthusiasm of the
greeting the candidate received every place he spoke, nor the response his
thrilling speeches evoked all over the state. Those who had gathered the
idea that the head of the great university would appear pedantic and stand
stiff-necked upon an academic pedestal from which he would talk over the
heads of the common people were forced, by the fighting, aggressive
attitude of the Doctor, to revise their old estimates. The campaign had
only begun when the leading newspapers of the country, particularly the
large dailies of New York, were taking an interest in the New Jersey
fight.

Those of us who doubted Woodrow Wilson's sincerity and his sympathy for
the great progressive measures for which we had been fighting in the New
Jersey Legislature were soon put at ease by the developments of his
campaign and his sympathetic attitude toward the things we had so much at
heart.

No candidate for governor in New Jersey had ever made so striking and
moving an appeal. Forgetting and ignoring the old slogans and shibboleths,
he appealed to the hearts and consciences of the people of the state. His
homely illustrations evoked expressions of delight, until it seemed as if
this newcomer in the politics of our state had a better knowledge of the
psychology of the ordinary crowd than the old stagers who had spent their
lives in politics. His illustrations always went home.

For instance, speaking of progress, Doctor Wilson said that much depended
upon the action of the one who is supposed to be progressive. "I can
recall," he would say in trying to make his point, "the picture of a poor
devil of a donkey on a treadmill. He keeps on tramping, tramping,
tramping, but he never gets anywhere. But," he continued, "there is a
certain elephant that's tramping, too, and how much progress is it
making?" And then, again, he would grow solemn when he spoke of the
average man. Turning aside from the humorous, he would strike a serious
note like this one:

    You know that communities are not distinguished by exceptional men.
    They are distinguished by the average of their citizenship. I often
    think of the poor man when he goes to vote: a moral unit in his lonely
    dignity.

    The deepest conviction and passion of my heart is that the common
    people, by which I mean all of us, are to be absolutely trusted. The
    peculiarity of some representatives, particularly those of the
    Republican party, is that when they talk about the people, they
    obviously do not include themselves. Now if, when you think of the
    people, you are not thinking about yourself, then you do not belong in
    America.

    When I look back at the processes of history, when I look back at the
    genesis of America, I see this written over every page, that the
    nations are renewed from the bottom, not from the top; that the genius
    which springs up from the ranks of unknown men is the genius which
    renews the youth and the energy of the people; and in every age of the
    world, where you stop the courses of the blood from the roots, you
    injure the great, useful structure to the extent that atrophy, death,
    and decay are sure to ensue. This is the reason that an hereditary
    monarchy does not work; that is the reason that an hereditary
    aristocracy does not work; that is the reason that everything of that
    sort is full of corruption and ready to decay.

    So I say that our challenge of to-day is to include in the partnership
    all those great bodies of unnamed men who are going to produce our
    future leaders and renew the future energies of America. And as I
    confess that, as I confess my belief in the common man, I know what I
    am saying. The man who is swimming against the stream knows the
    strength of it. The man who is in the mêlée knows what blows are being
    struck and what blood is being drawn. The man who is on the make is a
    judge of what is happening in America, not the man who has made; not
    the man who has emerged from the flood, not the man who is standing on
    the bank, looking on, but the man who is struggling for his life and
    for the lives of those who are dearer to him than himself. That is the
    man whose judgment will tell you what is going on in America, and that
    is the man by whose judgment I for one wish to be guided--so that as
    the tasks multiply and the days come when all will seem confusion and
    dismay, we may lift up our eyes to the hills out of these dark valleys
    where the crags of special privilege overshadow and darken our path,
    to where the sun gleams through the great passage in the broken
    cliffs, the sun of God, the sun meant to regenerate men, the sun meant
    to liberate them from their passion and despair and to lift us to
    those uplands which are the promised land of every man who desires
    liberty and achievement.

Speaking for the necessity of corporate reform in business, he said:

    I am not objecting to the size of these corporations. Nothing is big
    enough to scare me. What I am objecting to is that the Government
    should give them exceptional advantages, which enables them to succeed
    and does not put them on the same footing as other people. I think
    those great touring cars, for example, which are labelled "Seeing New
    York," are too big for the streets. You have almost to walk around the
    block to get away from them, and size has a great deal to do with the
    trouble if you are trying to get out of the way. But I have no
    objection on that account to the ordinary automobile properly handled
    by a man of conscience who is also a gentleman. I have no objection to
    the size, power, and beauty of an automobile. I am interested,
    however, in the size and conscience of the men who handle them, and
    what I object to is that some corporation men are taking "joy-rides"
    in their corporations.

Time and time again men were reminded of the great speeches of Lincoln and
thought they saw his fine spirit breathing through sentences like these:

    Gentlemen, we are not working for to-day, we are not working for our
    own interest, we are all going to pass away. But think of what is
    involved. Here are the tradition, and the fame, and the prosperity,
    and the purity, and the peace of a great nation involved. For the time
    being we are that nation, but the generations that are behind us are
    pointing us forward to the path and saying:

    "Remember the great traditions of the American people," and all those
    unborn children that will constitute the generations that are ahead
    will look back to us, either at those who serve them or at those who
    betray them. Will any man in such circumstances think it worthy to
    stand and not try to do what is possible in so great a cause, to save
    a country, to purify a polity, to set up vast reforms which will
    increase the happiness of mankind? God forbid that I should either be
    daunted or turned away from a great task like this.

Speaking of the candidate who opposed him:

    I have been informed that he has the best of me in looks. Now, it is
    not always the useful horse that is most beautiful. If I had a big
    load to be drawn some distance I should select one of those big,
    shaggy kinds of horses, not much for beauty but strong of pull.

On one occasion, when he had been talking about his and Mr. Lewis's
different conceptions of the "constitutional governor", and telling his
audience how he, if elected, would interpret the election as a mandate
from the people to assist in and direct legislation in the interests of
the people of New Jersey at large, he paused an instant and then in those
incisive tones and with that compression of the lips which marked his more
bellicose words, he said curtly: "If you don't want that kind of a
governor, don't elect me."

Excerpts from the speeches cannot do justice to this remarkable campaign,
which Woodrow Wilson himself, after he had been twice elected President of
the United States, considered the most satisfying of his political
campaigns, because the most systematic and basic. As Presidential
candidate he had to cover a wide territory and touch only the high spots
in the national issues, but in his gubernatorial campaign he spoke in
every county of the state and in some counties several times, and his
speeches grew out of each other and were connected with each other in a
way that made them a popular treatise on self-government. He used no
technical jargon and none of the stereotyped bombast of the usual
political campaign. He had a theme which he wanted to expound to the
people of New Jersey, which theme was the nature and character of free
government, how it had been lost in New Jersey through the complicated
involvements of invisible government, manipulated from behind the scenes
by adroit representatives of the corporate interest working in conjunction
with the old political machines; how under this clever manipulation
legislators had ceased to represent the electorate and were, as he called
them, only "errand boys" to do the bidding of the real rulers of New
Jersey, many of whom were not even residents of the state, and how free
government could be restored to New Jersey through responsible leadership.
He was making an application to practical politics of the fundamental
principles of responsible government which he had analyzed in his earlier
writings, including the book on "Congressional Government." Beneath the
concrete campaign issues in New Jersey he saw the fundamental principles
of Magna Charta and the Bill of Rights and the Declaration of Independence
and the Constitution of the United States. His trained habit of thinking
through concrete facts to basic principles was serving him well in this
campaign; his trained habit of clear exposition in the Princeton lecture
hall was serving him well. People heard from him political speaking of a
new kind; full of weighty instruction and yet so simply phrased and so
aptly illustrated that the simplest minded could follow the train of
reasoning; profound in political philosophy and yet at every step
humanized by one who believed government the most human of things because
concerned with the happiness and welfare of individuals; sometimes he
spoke in parables, homely anecdotes so applied that all could understand;
sometimes he was caustic when he commented on the excessive zeal of
corporations for strict constitutionalism, meaning thereby only such
legislation and judicial interpretations as would defend their property
rights--how they had secured those rights being a question not discussed
by these gentlemen; sometimes, though not frequently, there would be
purple patches of eloquence, particularly when descanting on the long
struggle of the inarticulate masses for political representation.

One of the surprises of the campaign to those who had known him as an
orator of classic eloquence was the comparative infrequency of rhetorical
periods. It was as if he were now too deeply engaged with actualities to
chisel and polish his sentences. Of the many anecdotes which he told
during the campaign one of his favourites was of the Irishman digging a
cellar, who when asked what he was doing said: "I'm letting the darkness
out." Woodrow Wilson told the people of New Jersey that he was "letting
the darkness out" of the New Jersey political situation. "Pitiless
publicity" was one of his many phrases coined in the campaign which
quickly found currency, not only in New Jersey but throughout the country,
for presently the United States at large began to realize that what was
going on in New Jersey was symbolical of the situation throughout the
country, a tremendous struggle to restore popular government to the
people. Since the founders of the Republic expounded free institutions to
the first electorates of this country there had probably been no political
campaign which went so directly to the roots of free representative
government and how to get it as that campaign which Woodrow Wilson
conducted in New Jersey in the autumn of 1910.




CHAPTER VII

THE CRISIS OF THE CAMPAIGN


The crisis of the campaign came when George L. Record, Progressive leader
in the ranks of the Republican party in Hudson County, uttered a ringing
challenge to the Democratic candidate to debate the issues of the campaign
with him. The challenge contained an alternative proposition that the
Democratic candidate either meet Mr. Record in joint debate in various
parts of the state or that he answer certain questions with reference to
the control of the Democratic party by what Mr. Record called the "Old
Guard." Mr. Record's letter and challenge created a profound sensation
throughout the state and brought hope and comfort to the ranks of the
Republican party.

Record emphasized the Old Guard's control of the convention at which
Wilson was nominated, basing most of his questions upon this character of
political control, and openly challenging Wilson, the Democratic
candidate, to say whether the elements that were dominant at Trenton in
the Convention would be permitted by him, in case of his election, to
influence his action as governor.

For several days after the letter containing the challenge reached the
Democratic candidate, there was a great deal of apprehension in the ranks
of the Democratic party lest the candidate should decide to ignore the
Record challenge, thus giving aid and comfort to the enemies of
progressivism in the state, or, on the other hand, that he would accept it
and thus give Mr. Record, who was a most resourceful public speaker and a
leading exponent of liberalism in the state, a chance to outwit him in
public debate. The latter practically demanded of the Democratic candidate
that he repudiate not only the Old Guard but the active management of his
campaign which had been taken over by James R. Nugent, one of the leaders
of Essex County, who daily accompanied the Democratic candidate on his
tour of the state. For a time it looked as if Doctor Wilson would ignore
entirely the Record challenge. It was plainly evident from all sides that
what appeared to be his reluctance to take a stand in the matter had
turned support away at a time when the sentiment of the state was rapidly
flowing his way.

I accompanied the candidate on an automobile tour of the state and in our
little talks I sought to find out, in a diplomatic way, just how his mind
was running on the Record challenge and how he intended to meet it. In the
automobile with us on this tour was James R. Nugent, then the state
chairman of the Democratic Committee. I ascertained that even he knew
nothing about the Princetonian's attitude toward the Record challenge. A
significant remark which the candidate dropped "between meetings" gave me
the first intimation that the Democratic candidate was, to use a baseball
expression, "on to the Record curve" and that he would answer him in so
emphatic and overwhelming a fashion that the Republican campaign would
never entirely recover from the blow.

One day while we were seated in the tonneau of the automobile discussing
the Record challenge, Mr. Wilson pointed his finger at Jim Nugent and
said, very significantly: "I intend to reply to Mr. Record, but I am sure
that it will hurt the feelings of this fine fellow."

A few days later, without consulting any one, Mr. Wilson replied to
Record's challenge. It was a definite, clean-cut, unequivocal repudiation
of the Old Guard's control of the Democratic party, and a convincing
answer to every question that had been put to him. It rang true. Old-line
Republicans, after reading this conclusive reply, shook their heads and
said, regretfully, "Damn Record; the campaign's over."

It was plainly evident that the crisis of the campaign had been safely
passed and that Mr. Wilson was on his way to the governorship.

In his challenge Mr. Record had addressed to Doctor Wilson nineteen
questions. Mr. Wilson's reply was in part as follows:

    You wish to know what my relations would be with the Democrats whose
    power and influence you fear should I be elected governor,
    particularly in such important matters as appointments and the signing
    of bills, and I am very glad to tell you. If elected I shall not
    either in the matter of appointments to office, or assent to
    legislation, or in shaping any part of the policy of my
    administration, submit to the dictation of any person, or persons,
    "special interests," or organizations. I will always welcome advice
    and suggestions from any citizens, whether boss, leader, organization
    man, or plain citizen, and I shall confidently seek the advice of
    influential and disinterested men representative of the communities
    and disconnected from political organizations entirely; but all
    suggestions and all advice will be considered on its merits and no
    additional weight will be given to any man's advice because of his
    exercising, or supposing that he exercises, some sort of political
    influence or control. I should deem myself for ever disgraced should
    I, in even the slightest degree, coöperate in any such system. I
    regard myself as pledged to the regeneration of the Democratic party.

Mr. Record also inquired: "Do you admit that the boss system exists as I
have described it?" "If so, how do you propose to abolish it?"

Mr. Wilson said:

    Of course I admit it. Its existence is notorious. I have made it my
    business for many years to observe and understand that system, and I
    hate it as thoroughly as I understand it. You are quite right in
    saying that the system is bipartisan; that it constitutes "the most
    dangerous condition in the public life of our state and nation to-
    day"; and that it has virtually, for the time being, "destroyed
    representative government and in its place set up a government of
    privilege." I would propose to abolish it by the reforms suggested in
    the Democratic platform, by the election to office of men who will
    refuse to submit to it, and who will lend all their energies to break
    it up, and by pitiless publicity.

Still hoping to corner the Governor, Mr. Record named the bosses:

    In referring to the Board of Guardians, do you mean such Republican
    leaders as Baird, Murphy, Kean, and Stokes? Wherein do the relations
    to the special interests of such leaders differ from the relation to
    the same interests of such Democratic leaders as Smith, Nugent, and
    Davis?

Mr. Wilson, answering this, said:

    I refer to the men you name. They [meaning Baird, Murphy, Kean,
    Stokes] differ from the others in this, that they are in control of
    the government of the state while the others are not, and cannot be if
    the present Democratic ticket is elected.

In reply to Mr. Record's question: "Will you join me in denouncing the
Democratic 'overlords' as parties to a political boss system?" Doctor
Wilson replied: "Certainly I will join you in denouncing them--or any one
of either party who attempts any outrages against the Government and
public morality."

At this time I was in close touch with the managers of the Wilson
campaign, including Smith, Nugent, and Davis. While they admired the fine
strategy that lay back of the Democratic candidate's reply to Mr. Record,
they looked upon it as a mere gesture upon the part of Mr. Wilson and
scorned to believe that his reply to Mr. Record constituted a challenge to
their leadership. They did not show any evidences of dismay or chagrin at
the courageous attitude taken by Doctor Wilson. They simply smiled and
shrugged their shoulders and said: "This is a great campaign play."




CHAPTER VIII

THE END OF THE CAMPAIGN


The final meeting of the gubernatorial campaign was held in a large
auditorium in Newark, New Jersey, where the last appeal was made by the
Democratic candidate. It was a meeting filled with emotionalism such as I
had never seen in a campaign before. The Democratic candidate, Woodrow
Wilson, had covered every section of the state and it was easy for even
the casual observer to note the rising tide in his favour. The campaign
had, indeed, become a crusade; his eloquence and sledge-hammer blows at
the opposition having cut our party lines asunder. I was present at the
final meeting and took my place in the wings of the theatre or auditorium,
alongside of Senator Smith, the Democratic chieftain who a few weeks
before had, in a masterful fashion, manipulated the workings of the
Convention at Trenton in such a way as to make the Doctor's nomination
possible. Mr. Wilson's speech on this occasion was a profession of faith
in the people, in the plain people, those "whose names never emerged into
the headlines of newspapers." When he said in a delightful sort of banter
to his audience, "I want you to take a sportsman's chance on me," there
went up a shout of approval which could be heard as far as the hills of
old Bergen.

The peroration of his final speech, spoken in a tone of voice that seemed
not only to reach every ear but, in fact, to touch every heart, was as
follows:

    We have begun a fight that, it may be, will take many a generation to
    complete, the fight against privilege; but you know that men are not
    put into this world to go the path of ease. They are put into this
    world to go the path of pain and struggle. No man would wish to sit
    idly by and lose the opportunity to take part in such a struggle. All
    through the centuries there has been this slow, painful struggle
    forward, forward, up, up, a little at a time, along the entire
    incline, the interminable way which leads to the perfection of force,
    to the real seat of justice and honour.

    There are men who have fallen by the way; blood without stint has been
    shed; men have sacrificed everything in this sometimes blind, but
    always instinctive and constant struggle, and America has undertaken
    to lead the way; America has undertaken to be the haven of hope, the
    opportunity for all men.

    Don't look forward too much. Don't look at the road ahead of you in
    dismay. Look at the road behind you. Don't you see how far up the hill
    we have come? Don't you see what those low and damp miasmatic levels
    were from which we have slowly led the way? Don't you see the rows of
    men come, not upon the lower level, but upon the upper, like the rays
    of the rising sun? Don't you see the light starting and don't you see
    the light illuminating all nations?

    Don't you know that you are coming more and more into the beauty of
    its radiance? Don't you know that the past is for ever behind us, that
    we have passed many kinds of evils no longer possible, that we have
    achieved great ends and have almost seen their fruition in free
    America? Don't forget the road that you have trod, but, remembering it
    and looking back for reassurance, look forward with confidence and
    charity to your fellow men one at a time as you pass them along the
    road, and see those who are willing to lead you, and say, "We do not
    believe you know the whole road. We know that you are no prophet, we
    know that you are no seer, but we believe that you know the direction
    and are leading us in that direction, though it costs you your life,
    provided it does not cost you your honour."

    And then trust your guides, imperfect as they are, and some day, when
    we all are dead, men will come and point at the distant upland with a
    great shout of joy and triumph and thank God that there were men who
    undertook to lead in the struggle. What difference does it make if we
    ourselves do not reach the uplands? We have given our lives to the
    enterprise. The world is made happier and humankind better because we
    have lived.

At the end of this memorable and touching speech old Senator James Smith,
seated alongside of me, pulled me by the coat and, in a voice just above a
whisper and with tears in his eyes, said: "That is a great man, Mr.
Tumulty. He is destined for great things."

It did not seem possible on this memorable night that within a few days
these two Democratic chieftains would be challenging each other and
engaging in a desperate struggle to decide the question of Democratic
leadership in the state.




CHAPTER IX

A PARTY SPLIT


All the prophecies and predictions of the political seers and philosophers
of New Jersey, many of them of course feeling their own partisan pulse,
were annihilated and set adrift by the happenings in New Jersey on the
first Tuesday in November, 1910. Woodrow Wilson, college professor, man of
mystery, political recluse, the nominee of the most standpat Democratic
convention of many years, had been chosen the leader of the people of the
state by the unprecedented majority of 39,000, and was wearing the laurels
of victory. The old bosses and leaders chuckled and smiled; they were soon
to have a Roman holiday under the aegis of the Wilson Administration.

There were many surprises in the Wilson victory. The Democrats awoke on
the day after the election to find that they had not only won the
governorship of the state, but their joy was unbounded to find that they
had captured the Lower House of the Legislature that would have the
election, under the preferential primary system just adopted, of a United
States senator. Therein lay the fly in the ointment. Never in their
wildest dreams or vain imaginings did the leaders of the Democratic party
believe that there was the slightest chance even under the most favourable
circumstances of carrying a majority of the vote of the state for the
Democratic choice, James E. Martine, of Plainfield.

The suggestion that it was possible to elect a Democrat to the United
States Senate was considered a form of political heresy. The nomination
for the Senate had been thrown about the state until torn and tattered
almost beyond repair; it was finally taken up and salvaged by that sturdy
old Democrat of Union County, Jim Martine. Even I had received the offer
of the senatorial toga, but the one who brought the nomination to me was
rudely cast out of my office. The question was: What would be the attitude
of the new Democratic leader, Woodrow Wilson, toward the preferential
choice, Martine? Would the vote at the election be considered as having
the full virtue and vigour of a solemn referendum or was it to be
considered as Senator Smith would have it, a sort of practical joke
perpetrated upon the electors? Soon the opinion of the people of the state
began to express itself in no uncertain way, demanding the carrying out of
the "solemn covenant" of the election, only to be answered by the
challenge of Senator Smith and his friends to enter the field against
Martine, the choice at the election.

This business pitchforked the Governor-elect prematurely into the rough-
and-tumble of "politics as she is," not always a dainty game. As I review
in retrospect this famous chapter of state history, which, because of the
subsequent supreme distinction of one of the parties to the contest,
became a chapter in national history, I realize the almost pathetic
situation of Mr. Wilson. He had called himself an amateur in politics, and
such he was in the practical details and involutions of the great American
game, though in his campaign he had shown himself a master of political
debate. In the ordinary course of events he would have been allowed two
months between his election and inauguration to begin an orderly
adjustment to the new life, to make a gradual transition from the comely
proprieties of an academic chair to the catch-as-catch-can methods of the
political wrestling mat, to get acquainted with the men and problems of
the new career. But the Smith-Martine affair gave birth prematurely to an
immediate occasion for a fight.

As president of Princeton, Doctor Wilson had proved that he was not averse
to a fight when a fight was necessary and when it was distinctly his
affair, but he may well have paused to consider whether the Smith-Martine
business was his affair. One of his favourite stories in later years was
of the Irishman who entered a saloon and seeing two men in a tangle of
fists and writhing legs and bloody heads on the floor at the rear of the
saloon, turned to the barkeeper and asked: "Is this a private fight, or
can anybody git into it?" A more politic man than Woodrow Wilson and one
less sensitive to moral duty, might well have argued that this contest was
the business of the Legislature, not of the Governor. Many a governor-
elect would have avoided the issue on this unquestionably sound legal
principle, and friends in Princeton were in fact advising Mr. Wilson to
precisely this course, the course of neutrality. It would not be strange
if neutrality, aloofness, had presented a rather attractive picture at
times to Mr. Wilson's mind. Why should he gratuitously take a partisan
position between the factions which would inevitably win for him the
enmity of a strong element within the party? Which would also win for him
the unpleasant reputation of ingratitude? For though he had at the first
overtures from Senator Smith and his friends made it as clear as language
can make anything that he could accept the nomination only with the
explicit understanding that acceptance should establish no obligations of
political favours to anybody, it would be impossible to make it appear
that opposition to Smith's darling desire to become senator was not an
ungracious return to the man who had led the forces which had nominated
Wilson at Trenton.

On the other hand, there was his distinct pledge to the people during his
campaign, that if they elected him governor he would make himself the
leader of the party, would broadly and not with pettifogging legalism
interpret his constitutional relationship to the Legislature, would
undertake to assist in legislative action, and not wait supinely for the
Legislature to do something, and then sign or veto the thing done.
Moreover, he had insisted on the principle of the preferential primary as
one means by which the people should participate in their own government
and convey an expression of their will and purpose to the law-making body.
The people had voted for Martine. The fact that Senator Smith had scorned
to have his name placed on the ballot, the fact that human imagination
could picture a stronger senator from New Jersey than genial "Jim" Martine
did not affect the argument. A great majority had voted for Martine and
for nobody else. Was the use of the preferential primary for the first
time in the selection of a United States senator to be ignored, and all
the arguments that Candidate Wilson and others had made in behalf of the
system to be taken "in a Pickwickian sense," as not meaning anything?

There was a real dilemma doubtless much more acutely realized by the
Governor-elect than by the hot-heads, including myself, who were clamorous
for an immediate proclamation of support of Martine, on progressive
principles, and for an ultimatum of war-to-the-knife against Smith and the
old crowd.

It seemed as if Mr. Wilson were hesitating and holding off, reluctant to
accept the gage of battle thrown down by the challenge of the Smith wing.
The leading Democratic and Independent journals of the state were most
insistent that immediate proof be given by Governor-elect Wilson of his
leadership and control over the party and that a test should be made as to
which influence, reactionary or progressive, was to control the destinies
of our party in the state. Those of us who had followed the candidate
throughout the campaign and who had been heartened by his progressive
attitude were sorely disappointed at his failure immediately to act. It
was painfully evident to us that behind the scenes at Princeton the new
governor's friends, particularly Colonel Harvey, were urging upon him
cautious and well-considered action and what mayhap might be called "a
policy of watchful waiting," picturing to him the insurmountable
difficulties that would lie in his path in case he exercised his
leadership in the matter of Martine's selection to the United States
Senate. They suggested that the vote for Martine had no binding force;
that it was a mere perfunctory expression of preference in the matter of
the United States senatorship which the Legislature was free to ignore.
The only man, therefore, who could make the vote effective was the
Governor-elect himself. What he would do in these circumstances was for
days after the election a matter of perplexing doubt to his many friends.
Disappointment and chagrin at the candidate's silence brooded over the
ranks of the progressives of the state. In my law office in Jersey City I
tried to convince those who came to confer with me regarding the matter
that they must be patient; that, ultimately, everything would be all right
and that Doctor Wilson would soon assert his leadership over the party and
take his proper place at the head of those who worked to make the
preferential vote an effective instrumentality. Frankly, though I did not
give expression to my doubts, I was profoundly and deeply disappointed at
the apparently hesitant, uncertain attitude of the Governor-elect. Feeling
certain that popular opinion would be with him in case he decided to lead
in this struggle, I was convinced that the delay in announcing his
attitude toward the Smith-Nugent "defi" was dampening the ardour and
enthusiasm of many of his friends.

The progressive Democrats of the state waited with patience the word of
command and counsel from the Princeton professor to initiate the fight
that would settle for all time in the state of New Jersey the question
whether the referendum on the question of the election of United States
senators should be treated as "a scrap of paper," or whether it was to be
upheld and vindicated by the action of the Legislature. No direct word
came to me of the Governor-elect's attitude on this vital question.
Rumours of his position toward Senator Smith's candidacy filtered "through
the lines" from Princeton; various stories and intimations that seemed to
indicate that the Governor-elect would allow Martine's selection to go by
default; that he would not interfere in any way to carry out the mandate
of the election.

Things were in this unsatisfactory condition when to my surprise I
received a call in my modest Jersey City law offices from the Governor-
elect. Knowing him as I know him, I can see that in his deliberate fashion
he was taking testimony from both sides and slowly arriving at his own
decision. Having heard from the cautious who counselled neutrality, he was
now seeking the arguments of the impetuous who demanded action and wanted
it "hot off the bat." But at that time, not knowing him as I now know him,
he seemed, in this interview, to be vacillating between two opinions, for
he did what I have often known him to do subsequently: stated with
lucidity the arguments of the other side, and with the air of one quite
open-minded, without opinions of his own, seemed to seek my arguments in
rebuttal. I was sorely disappointed by what then seemed to me his negative
attitude, so unlike the militant debater whom I had come to admire in the
campaign which had recently been brought to a brilliant and victorious
close. In my youthful impetuosity I felt that we had been deceived in our
man, a bold talker but timid in action. I simply did not then know the man
and the mixed elements in him. Later, in close association, I was to see
this phase of him not infrequently, the canny Scot, listening without
comment and apparently with mind to let to conflicting arguments while his
own mind was slowly moving to its own position, where it would stand fixed
and immovable as Gibraltar.

Almost as if it were an academic question, with which he had no personal
concern, he propounded the alternatives: Should he lead the fight against
Senator Smith, or should he stand aloof and permit the Legislature to act
without any suggestion from him? He summarized the arguments of his
friends at Princeton who were advising him to steer clear of this fight
and not permit himself to be drawn into it by young, impetuous people like
myself. He said that certain overtures and suggestions of compromises had
been made to him by Senator Smith's friends, to the effect that if he
would not play a leading part in the fight and allow the Legislature to
act without interference from him, Senator Smith and his friends in the
state would agree not to oppose his legislative programme at the coming
session. It was further suggested that Senator Smith had the necessary
votes to elect himself and that it would be futile to attempt to elect Jim
Martine; and that his intervention in this family quarrel would result in
a bitter and humiliating defeat for him at the very outset of his
administration. When the Governor-elect had concluded this preliminary
statement, I was depressed and disappointed. I did not think there should
be a moment's hesitation on his part in at once accepting the challenge so
defiantly addressed to him by the Democratic bosses of the state.

Frankly, I laid the whole case before him in words to this effect: "My
dear Doctor Wilson, there is no way I can better serve you than by frankly
dealing with the question. Your friends away off in Princeton probably do
not know how for years our party and its destinies have been in the hands
of these very men, enemies of liberalism in New Jersey, who by your
silence or indifference as to the United States senatorship are to be
given a new lease on life. The issue involved in this fight is fundamental
and goes far beyond the senatorship. The action you take will have a far-
reaching effect upon our party's fortunes and no one can calculate the
effect it will undoubtedly have on your own political future. In urging
you not to take part in this fight your friends are acting unwisely. You
cannot afford not to fight and not to have an immediate test of your
leadership in this matter. The question of Mr. Martine's fitness, as your
friends urge, is not an issue seriously to be considered. 47,454 votes in
the state have decided that matter and you cannot reverse their verdict.
Your friends have placed too much emphasis on Martine's alleged unfitness
and too little on the duty you owe the party and the state as _leader_."

I called to his attention the fact that men like myself had been heartened
and encouraged by his speeches in the campaign; how we felt that at last
we had found in him a leader, bold and fearless, and that now, when the
first real test of leadership came, it appeared that we were to be
disappointed and that by his silence and inaction he would permit Senator
Smith to win and allow Martine, the popular choice, to be defeated, thus
setting aside the verdict of the election. He listened intently but
without comment to all I had to say. Proceeding with my argument, I said:
"The people of New Jersey accepted your word and, to employ your own
phrase, 'took a sportsman's chance on you' and they must not be
disappointed. Your failure to make this fight will mean that you have not
only surrendered your leadership as governor in this matter, but by the
same act you will have abdicated your leadership in favour of the Old
Guard all along the line. They have set a trap for you, and I know you
will not permit yourself to be caught in it." In conclusion I said: "They
say they will support your reform programme. What assurance have you that,
having defeated you in this your first big fight, they will not turn on
you and defeat your whole legislative programme? As governor, you have the
power to lead us to a great victory in this vital matter. Exercise it now,
and opinion throughout the state will strongly and enthusiastically
support you. You have but to announce your willingness to lead and the
people of the state will rally to your standard. The fight, in any event,
will be made and we wish you to lead it. This is really the first step to
the Presidency. That is what is really involved. Not only the people of
New Jersey but the people of America are interested in this fight. They
are clamouring for leadership, and I am sure you are the man to lead, and
that you will not fail."

When the Governor-elect rose to leave my office, he turned to me and
asked, still in a non-committal manner, whether in my opinion we could win
the fight in case he should decide to enter upon it. I at once assured him
that while the various political machines of the state would oppose him at
every turn, their so-called organizations were made of cardboard and that
they would immediately disintegrate and fall the moment he assumed
leadership and announced that the fight was on.

In his own time and by his own processes Mr. Wilson arrived at his
decision. It was the first of my many experiences of his deliberative
processes in making up his mind and of the fire and granite in him after
he had made his decision. He informed me that he would support Martine and
use all his force, official and personal, to have the Legislature accept
the preferential primary as the people's mandate.

With prudence and caution, with a political sense that challenged the
admiration of every practical politician in the state, the Princetonian
began to set the stage for the preliminary test. There was nothing
dramatic about these preliminaries. Quickly assuming the offensive, he
went about the task of mobilizing his political forces in the most
patient, practical way. No statement to the people of his purposes to
accept the challenge of the Democratic bosses was made by him. Certain
things in the way of accommodation were necessary to be done before this
definite step was taken. It was decided that until the Governor-elect had
conferred with the Democratic bosses in an effort to persuade them that
the course they had adopted was wrong, it would be best not to make an
immediate issue by the Governor-elect's announcement. We thought that by
tactfully handling Smith and Davis we would be able by this method of
conciliation to convince their friends, at least those in the party
organization, that we were not ruthlessly bent upon leading a revolt, but
that we were attempting peacefully a settlement that would prevent a split
in our party ranks.

We were convinced that in the great body of organization Democrats there
were many fine men who resented this attempt of the bosses to force Jim
Smith again on the party and that there were many who silently wished us
success, although they were not free to come to our side in open espousal.
Thus we began patiently to build our back-fire in the ranks of the
Democratic organization itself, to unhorse the Essex boss.

The first thing to carry out the programme was a visit paid to the sick
room of the Democratic boss of the Hudson wing, Bob Davis, who lay
dangerously ill in his modest home on Grove Street, Jersey City. The visit
itself of the Governor-elect to the home of the stricken boss had a marked
psychological effect in conciliating and winning over to our side the
active party workers in the Davis machine. To many of the privates in the
ranks the boss was a veritable hero and they witnessed with pleasure the
personal visit of the new Governor-elect to the boss at his home and
looked upon it as a genuine act of obeisance and deference to their
stricken leader. They thought this a generous and a big thing to do, and
so it naturally turned their sympathies to the Governor-elect. It gave
further proof to them that the man elected Governor was not "high-browish"
or inclined to fight unless he had previously laid all his cards on the
table. We also realized that to have ignored the boss would have been to
give strength and comfort to the enemy, and so we deliberately set out to
cultivate his friends in a spirit of honourable and frank dealing. The
visit to the boss was a part of this plan. The meeting between these two
men--one, the Governor-elect and until recently the president of
Princeton; the other, a Democratic boss, old and battle-scarred--in the
little sick room of the humble home, was a most interesting affair and at
times a most touching and pathetic one. Both men were frank in dealing
with each other. There was no formality or coldness in the meeting. The
Governor-elect quickly placed the whole situation before the boss, showing
how the Democratic party had for many years advocated the very system--the
election of United States senators by the people--that the Democratic
bosses of the state were now attacking and repudiating. Briefly, he
sketched the disastrous effects upon our party and its prestige in the
state and the nation if a Democratic legislature should be the first,
after advocating it, to cast it aside in order to satisfy the selfish
ambition and vanity of one of the Old Guard. In a sincere manly fashion,
so characteristic of him, Boss Davis then proceeded to state _his_ case.
Briefly, it was this: He had given his solemn promise and had entered into
a gentleman's agreement with Smith to deliver to him the twelve
legislative votes from Hudson. He would not violate his agreement.
Laughingly, he said to the Governor-elect: "If the Pope of Rome, of whose
Church I am a member, should come to this room to urge me to change my
attitude, I would refuse to do so. I have given my promise and you would
not have me break it, would you, Doctor?" With real feeling and a show of
appreciation of the boss's frankness and loyalty to his friends, the
Governor-elect quickly replied: "Of course, I would not have you break
your promise, but you must not feel aggrieved if I shall find it necessary
to fight you and Smith in the open for the Hudson votes." "Go on, Doctor,"
said the sick man, "I am a game sport and I am sure that with you there
will be no hitting below the belt." And thus the first conference between
the Governor-elect and the political boss ended.

Mr. Wilson's next visit was to Senator Smith himself at the Senator's home
in Newark, a meeting entirely friendly in character and frank in
expressions of the unalterable determination of the two men, of Senator
Smith not to withdraw from the race, of Doctor Wilson to oppose his
candidacy and place the issue before the people of the state. Senator
Smith with engaging candour gave Mr. Wilson his strong personal reasons
for wishing to return to the United States Senate: he said that he had
left the Senate under a cloud due to the investigations of the Sugar Trust
and that for the sake of his children he wanted to reinstate himself in
the Senate. Mr. Wilson expressed his sympathy for this motive, more
appealing than mere personal ambition, but declared that he could not
permit his sympathy as an individual to interfere with his duty as he
conceived it, as an official pledged by all his public utterances to
support progressive principles, among which was the preferential primary
system, and committed to a course of active leadership in matters which
concerned the state at large, in which category the selection of a United
States senator certainly fell. He made a personal appeal to the Senator
for the sake of the party to forego his desire and by a noble act of
renunciation to win the regard of all the citizens of the state, saying:
"Why, Senator, you have it in your power to become instantly, the biggest
man in the state." But the Senator was firm. And so, though the visit was
conducted with the dignity and courtesy characteristic of both men, it
ended with their frank acknowledgment to each other that from now on there
existed between them a state of war.

Returning to Princeton from Newark, the formal announcement of the
Governor's entrance into the fight was made and the contest for the
senatorship and the leadership of the Democratic party was on. The
announcement was as follows:

    WOODROW WILSON'S CHALLENGE TO THE BOSSES
    Friday Evening, Dec. 9,1910.

    The question who should be chosen by the incoming legislature of the
    state to occupy the seat in the Senate of the United States which will
    presently be made vacant by the expiration of the term of Mr. Kean is
    of such vital importance to the people of the state, both as a
    question of political good faith and as a question of genuine
    representation in the Senate, that I feel constrained to express my
    own opinion with regard to it in terms which cannot be misunderstood.
    I had hoped that it would not be necessary for me to speak; but it is.

    I realize the delicacy of taking any part in the discussion of the
    matter. As Governor of New Jersey I shall have no part in the choice
    of a Senator. Legally speaking, it is not my duty even to give advice
    with regard to the choice. But there are other duties besides legal
    duties. The recent campaign has put me in an unusual position. I
    offered, if elected, to be the political spokesman and adviser of the
    people. I even asked those who did not care to make their choice of
    governor upon that understanding not to vote for me. I believe that
    the choice was made upon that undertaking; and I cannot escape the
    responsibility involved. I have no desire to escape it. It is my duty
    to say, with a full sense of the peculiar responsibility of my
    position, what I deem it to be the obligation of the Legislature to do
    in this gravely important matter.

    I know that the people of New Jersey do not desire Mr. James Smith,
    Jr., to be sent again to the Senate. If he should be, he will not go
    as their representative. The only means I have of knowing whom they do
    desire to represent them is the vote at the recent primaries, where
    48,000 Democratic voters, a majority of the whole number who voted at
    the primaries, declared their preference for Mr. Martine, of Union
    County. For me that vote is conclusive. I think it should be for every
    member of the Legislature.

    Absolute good faith in dealing with the people, an unhesitating
    fidelity to every principle avowed, is the highest law of political
    morality under a constitutional government. The Democratic party has
    been given a majority in the Legislature; the Democratic voters of the
    state have expressed their preference under a law advocated and
    supported by the opinion of their party, declared alike in platforms
    and in enacted law. It is clearly the duty of every Democratic
    legislator who would keep faith with the law of the state with the
    avowed principles of his party to vote for Mr. Martine. It is my duty
    to advocate his election--to urge it by every honourable means at my
    command.

Immediately the work of organizing our forces for the fight was set in
motion. I had been designated by the Governor-elect to handle the fight in
Hudson County, the Davis stronghold. Meetings were arranged for at what
were considered the strategic points in the fight: Jersey City and Newark.
The announcement of the Governor-elect's acceptance of the challenge had
given a thrill to the whole state and immediately the reaction against the
Old Guard's attempt to discredit the primary choice was evident. The
bitterness in the ranks of the contesting factions began to express itself
in charges and counter-charges that were made. Speeches for and against
the candidates were addressed to the ears of the unwary voter. The state
was soon up in arms. There was no doubt of the attitude of the people.
This was made plain in so many ways that our task was to impress this
opinion upon the members of the Legislature, whose vote, in the last
analysis, would be the determining factor in this contest. While we were
laying down a barrage in the way of organization work and making
preparations for our meetings throughout the state, the Governor-elect was
conferring nightly with members of the Legislature at the University Club
in New York. From day to day could be observed the rising tide in favour
of our cause, and slowly its effect upon the members of the Legislature
was made manifest. The first meeting in the senatorial contest was held in
Jersey City. As chairman of the committee, I had arranged the details for
this first speech of the Governor-elect. I had adopted a plan in making
the arrangements that I felt would remove from the minds of the
organization workers, to whom we desired to appeal, the idea that this was
a revolt or secessionist movement in the ranks of the Democratic party.
The committee in charge of the meeting had selected the finest, cleanest
men in our party's ranks to preside over and take part in the meeting.

There was never such an outpouring of people. Men and women from outside
the state, and, particularly, men and women from New York and Connecticut,
had come all the way to New Jersey to witness this first skirmish in the
political upheaval that was soon to take place. The metropolitan dailies
had sent their best men to write up the story and to give a "size-up" of
the new Governor-elect in fighting action. They were not disappointed. He
was in rare form. His speech was filled with epigrams that carried the
fight home to those upon whom we were trying to make an impression. When
he warned his friends not to be afraid of the machine which the bosses
controlled he said, with biting irony: "We do not fear their fortresses
[meaning the political machines] that frown and look down upon us from
their shining heights." Smiling deprecatingly and waving his hand, he
continued: "They are but made of paste-board and when you approach them
they fall at your very touch."

Ridiculing and belittling the power of the bosses, he called them "warts
upon the body politic." "It is not," said the new chief of Democracy, "a
capital process to cut off a wart. You don't have to go to the hospital
and take an anaesthetic. The thing can be done while you wait, and it is
being done. The clinic is open, and every man can witness the operation."

The meeting was a triumph and strikingly demonstrated the power of brain
and fine leadership over brawn and selfish politics.

The final appeal to the voters on the United States senatorship was made
in the heart of the enemy's country, the stronghold of the Smith-Nugent
faction at Newark, New Jersey. The same enthusiastic, whole-souled
response that characterized the Jersey City meeting was repeated. The same
defiant challenge to the Old Guard was uttered by the new Governor.
Sarcasm, bitter irony, delightful humour, and good-natured flings at the
Old Guard were found in this his final appeal. In a tone of voice that
carried the deep emotion he felt, he said, as his final word:

    Do you know what is true of the special interests at this moment! They
    have got all their baggage packed and they are ready to strike camp
    over night, provided they think it is profitable for them to come over
    to the Democratic party. They are waiting to come over bag and baggage
    and take possession of the Democratic party. Will they be welcome? Do
    you want them? I pray God we may never wake up some fine morning and
    find them encamped on our side.

The response was thrilling. The two meetings just held, one in Jersey City
and the other in Newark, convinced those of us in charge of the Martine
campaign that we had made the right impression in the state and, having
deeply aroused the voters, all we had to do was to harvest the crop, the
seed of which had been planted in the soil of public opinion by the
speeches the new Governor had made. It was plain that the machine crowd
was stunned and reeling from the frequent and telling blows that had been
so vigorously delivered by him. Suggestions of compromise came from the
enemy's ranks, but no armistice would be granted, except upon the basis of
an absolute and unconditional surrender. Offers and suggested proposals
from the Old Guard to the Governor-elect were thrust aside as valueless
and not worthy his consideration. There was nothing to do but play for a
"knock-out." Soon the full pressure of the opinion of the state began to
be felt. Members of the Legislature from the various counties began to
feel its influence upon them. Our ranks began to be strengthened by
additions from the other side. The Governor's speeches and his nightly
conferences were having their full effect. The bosses, now in panic, were
each day borne down by the news brought to them of the innumerable
defections in their quickly dwindling forces. However, the bosses showed a
bold front and declared that their man had the votes. But their confidence
waned as election day approached. Realizing the fact that we were dealing
with the best-trained minds in the Democratic party, we gave no news to
the outside world of the strength in number of our own ranks, knowing full
well that if we did so imprudent a thing, the active men in the ranks of
the enemy would pull every wire of influence and use every method of
threats and coercion to wean the votes away from us. We "stood pat" and
watched with interest every move made by the other side. In his final
statement before the joint meeting of the Legislature Smith boldly
announced his election to the Senate on the strength of the number of
legislative votes pledged to him, but those of us who were in the midst of
this political melee knew that he was licked and that he was only
whistling to keep up his courage.

In the meantime, the Governor-elect had tendered to me the post of
secretary to the Governor, and I accepted this office which brought me
into more intimate association with him and his plans.




CHAPTER X

EXIT THE OLD GUARD


The conferences and meetings in preparation for the great senatorial fight
having been concluded, the scene of activities was transferred to Trenton,
where shortly after the Inauguration plans were laid for the final battle.

Immediately upon the conclusion of the Inaugural ceremonies, the hand-to-
hand contests for the great prize and incidentally the leadership of the
Democrats, was on in full swing. At the beginning of the fight the bosses
counted upon the active support of the influential Democratic leaders
throughout the state, like Robert S. Hudspeth of Hudson County, Johnston
Cornish of Warren County, Edward E. Grosscup of Gloucester County, Barney
Gannon and Peter Daley of Middlesex County, old Doctor Barber of Warren
County, Otto Wittpenn of Hudson County, Billy French and Judge Westcott of
Camden, Dave Crater of Monmouth, and minor bosses or leaders in south and
middle Jersey. But in utter amazement they found that we had captured
these fine pieces of heavy political artillery and that through them we
had acquired and taken over some of the most valuable political salients
in the state.

A little incident in the campaign is worth reciting. In managing the
campaign I found that for some unaccountable reason the so-called Irish
vote of the state was massed solidly behind ex-Senator Smith and in bitter
opposition to Governor Wilson. We were constantly coming in contact with
these currents of opposition, and how to overcome them and bring the Irish
vote into our fold was the task that devolved upon me as the manager of
Martine's campaign. Seated in my office one day I recalled that years
before I had read in the Congressional Record an account of a speech
delivered in the United States Senate by James Smith, upholding in terms
of highest praise the famous Hay-Pauncefote Treaty. The speech in all its
details, particularly the argument it contained calling for closer
relations between the United States and Great Britain, was still fresh in
my memory. Evidently Senator Smith and his Irish friends had forgotten it,
for he was now trying to mobilize the Irish vote of the state in his
favour. On re-reading this speech of the old Senator, I smiled with
satisfaction, realizing the campaign use that could be made of it. After
considering the matter carefully, I sent for a devoted friend of mine, a
fine, clean-cut Irishman, who stood high in the ranks of the Clan-na-Gael
and other Irish societies in our county. After he had read the speech, we
discussed the method of using it, for we felt sure that our Irish friends,
when they became acquainted with this speech upon reading it, would not
find themselves in agreement with Smith's attitude toward England and the
Treaty. My friend consented to write letters to the leading papers,
particularly the Irish papers of the state, setting forth Smith's attitude
toward the Treaty. The effect upon the Irish vote was immediate and soon
resolutions began to be adopted by the various Irish societies throughout
the state, denouncing Smith for having advocated the much-despised "Anglo-
Saxon Alliance."

While I opposed Senator Smith in this contest there was nothing personally
antagonistic in my attitude. We were, I hope, friends throughout the
conflict, and many times since then we have discussed the events leading
up to Martine's election to the United States Senate. It was only a few
months ago, while seated at a table at the Shoreham Hotel in Washington,
that the old Senator, genial and debonair as ever, was discussing the
fights of the old days, and particularly the events leading up to his
defeat for the United States senatorship. In discussing the New Jersey
campaign, he told me of the use that had been made by "someone" in the
Wilson ranks of his Senate speech on the Hay-Pauncefote Treaty. He said
that his reason for making this speech was his sincere desire as an Irish-
American to bring about more amicable relations between the United States
and England, and as I listened to this frank recital I felt that, although
the use I had made of his speech was legitimate in the circumstances,
there was nothing to be proud of in having exploited the Senator's really
fine speech for political purposes.

The State House at Trenton on the night previous to the balloting for the
senatorship was a place of feverish activity. The Essex ex-Chieftain,
Smith, kept "open house" in the then famous Room 100 of the Trenton House.
The Governor-elect, calm and apparently undisturbed, but anxious and ready
for a contest, quietly moved about the Executive offices attending to
official matters.

We felt confident of the result of the vote if the members of the
Legislature were left free, but we were certain that every kind of
pressure would be put upon them to change the votes of the wobblers in our
ranks. All night long and until four or five o'clock in the morning the
Governor-elect and I remained in the Executive office, keeping in close
contact with our friends both by telephone and personal conference.
Senator Smith never knew it, but some of the men close to him and
participating in his own conferences on this fateful night hourly brought
to us information as to what would be the real line-up of his forces on
the day set for balloting. We found a spy in our own ranks--a leading
lawyer and politician from, my own county--who, while pretending to be our
friend, was supplying the enemy with what he thought was useful
information. We, however, were already aware of this gentleman's duplicity
and, although he never suspected it, whenever he left the Executive office
he was followed by a professional detective, who heard and reported to us
every bit of information he had supplied to our political foes.

On the night before the election the Smith-Nugent leaders had gathered
their forces and, headed by a band, paraded through the streets of
Trenton, passing in review before Senator Smith who stood upon the steps
of the Trenton House and greeted them in most generous fashion. The
purpose of this demonstration was obvious to the Governor-elect and his
friends. It was simply to give to the arriving legislators an impression
of great strength behind the Smith-Nugent forces.

On the morning of the balloting the corridors and lobby of the State House
were crowded with the henchmen of the Essex chieftain. The surface
indications were that Smith had the necessary number of votes, but to
those of us who were able accurately to analyze the situation it was
apparent that the froth would soon pass away. The parade and the
demonstration of the Nugent followers had deeply impressed some of the men
in our ranks, particularly the editor of a Trenton newspaper, who came to
the Executive offices and urged upon the Governor the publication of a
statement which he had prepared, filled with grandiloquent phrase, warning
the people of the state that the members of the Legislature were about to
be coerced and threatened by the strong-arm methods of the Smith-Nugent
organization.

Frankly, the suggestion which this Trenton editor made to the new Governor
impressed him. The Governor made certain changes in the statement and then
sent for me to read it, asking my advice upon it. The first test of my
official connection with the Governor was at hand. Upon reading the
editor's article I saw at once that its issuance would be most unwise, and
I frankly said so. My practical and political objection to it, however,
was that if published it would give to the people of the state the
impression that our forces were in a panic and that we, were in grave fear
of the result. I further argued that it was an attempt at executive
coercion of the Legislature that would meet with bitter resentment. I felt
that we had already won the fight; that the Legislature, which was the
jury in the case, was inclined to favour us if we did not seek to
influence its members by such foolish action as the Trenton editor
advised. The statement was not published.

I found in this little argument with the new Governor that he was open-
minded and anxious for advice and I thereafter felt free to discuss
matters with him in the frankest way.

The first ballot showed Martine leading heavily. In the following ballots
he gained strength at every count. The Legislature adjourned the first day
without reaching a decision. As we surveyed the field after the first
day's balloting it was clear to us that if we hoped to win the fight we
would have to have Hudson County's legislative vote. The Democratic boss,
Bob Davis, had died a few days previous, and had entrusted his affairs to
the hands of a fine, clean-cut, wholesome Irish-American, James Hennessy,
then chairman of the Hudson County Democratic Committee. He was one of the
squarest men I ever met in politics and had been an intimate associate of
my father in the old days in Jersey City. On the day of the final
balloting we were sorely pressed. When it seemed as if we had reached the
limit of our strength, it occurred to me that a final appeal to Hennessy
by the Governor might have some effect. We decided to send for Hennessy to
come to the Executive offices. It was clear from his attitude when he
arrived that, while his sympathies lay with us, he was bound in honour to
carry out the instructions of his chief and deliver the Hudson County vote
to Smith. The Governor, getting very close to him and discussing the
campaign in the most intimate way, told him that if Martine was rejected,
the political effect on our party's fortunes would be disastrous; that we
were sure we had the votes and that the next ballot would give proof of
this, and that it was only a question, to use a campaign phrase, of
"getting on the band wagon" and making Martine's nomination unanimous.
When the Governor concluded his talk, I turned to Hennessy in the most
familiar way, and spoke of the Governor's desire to elect Martine and of
the unselfish purpose he had in mind and how he, Hennessy, was blocking
the way. I said to him: "You have it in your power to do a big thing. You
may never have the chance again." He finally stood up and said to me:
"What do you want me to do?" I told him that we wanted him to go to the
Hudson delegates and give word that the "jig" was up and that they must
throw their support to Martine. Shortly after this meeting the Hudson
delegation met in caucus and agreed to support Martine.

When Smith and Nugent heard of this message they practically surrendered.
The balloting which began at ten o'clock was a mere formal affair for it
was plainly evident from the changes in the early balloting that Martine's
election was assured. Martine's election was a fact; and Woodrow Wilson
was the victor in the first battle for the Presidency.

I have stated that I am not proud of the way I used Senator Smith's speech
on the Hay-Pauncefote Treaty. We were fighting veterans in the political
game, men who knew all the tricks and who did not scruple to play any of
them. In the rough school of practical politics I had been taught that
"you must fight the devil with fire" and that it is as legitimate in
politics as in war to deceive the enemy about your resources. But we
conducted politics on higher levels during the eight years in the White
House, when my chief, no longer an amateur, taught me, by precept and
example, that effective fighting can be conducted without resort to the
tricks and duplicities of those who place political advantage above
principle. Woodrow Wilson made new rules for the game, and they were the
rules which men of honour adopt when conducting their private business on
principles of good faith and truth-telling.




CHAPTER XI

EXECUTIVE LEADERSHIP


The election of Martine having been settled and the preferential vote
having been validated through the courageous handling of a delicate
situation, the new Governor was firmly in the saddle. His leadership had
been tested and only the fragments of the Old Guard machine were left. The
road was thus cleared of all obstacles in his own party that might be put
in the way of his programme of constructive legislation.

Having delivered his first message, which contained a full and detailed
discussion of his whole programme, he applied himself with great energy
and industry to the task of preparing bills for introduction in the Senate
and House. Not content with the mere delivery of his message, he put
himself entirely at the disposal of the members of the Legislature and
industriously applied himself to the task of preparation until the
following measures: _Regulation of Public Utilities, Corrupt Practices
Act_, _Direct Primaries Act_, and the _Employers' Liability Act_, were in
shape to be introduced.

While his leadership was vindicated as a result of the Smith-Martine
fight, the contest had undoubtedly left many bitter scars and enmities
which soon manifested themselves in the unfriendly attitude of the Smith
men in the Legislature toward the new Governor and particularly toward his
programme of constructive legislation. For awhile after the election of
Martine they seemed subdued and cheerfully resigned to defeat; but when
the new Governor launched his legislative programme they began eagerly to
attack it in many subtle ways. While there were some members of this group
who honestly opposed the Governor's programme because of their
conservative tendencies, the majority of the opposition were bent upon
"putting it to sleep," because, forsooth, it bore the Wilson label. The
new Governor quickly grasped the full significance of the situation and
openly challenged the opposition. To accomplish his purpose, he did an
unprecedented thing. He invited the Democratic members of the Legislature
to meet him in the Supreme Court Room of the State House and there, face
to face, he laid before them various items of his programme and challenged
the opposition to lay their cards on the table. In the course of this
conference one of the leaders of the Smith-Nugent faction expressed his
dissatisfaction with the whole programme, challenging the new Governor's
right to be present at the conference; even intimating that his presence
was an unconstitutional act which might subject him to impeachment. The
new Governor, undisturbed by this criticism, turned to the gentleman who
had challenged his right to be present at the conference, and said:

    You can turn aside from the measure if you choose; you can decline to
    follow me; you can deprive me of office and turn away from me, but you
    cannot deprive me of power so long as I steadfastly stand for what I
    believe to be the interests and legitimate demands of the people
    themselves. I beg you to remember, in this which promises to be an
    historic conference, you are settling the question of the power or
    impotence, the distinction or the ignominy of the party to which the
    people with singular generosity have offered the conduct of their
    affairs.

Some of the members of the Legislature came to my office after this
conference and told me of the great speech the Governor had just delivered
and how defiantly he had met the attack of his enemies. This caucus gave
an emphatic endorsement of his legislative programme and in a few weeks
the House of Assembly had acted upon it, and the various bills that
constituted his entire programme were on their way to the Republican
Senate. How to induce favourable action at the hands of the Republican
Senate was a problem. There were very few members of the Senate whose
ideals and purposes were in agreement with those of the Governor.

When the bills reached the Senate, the Governor began daily conferences
with the Republican members of that body, discussing with them the items
of his programme and urging speedy action upon them. As a part of the
programme of inducing the Republicans to support him, a friend of mine who
was on the inside of the Republican situation reported to me that it was
the opinion in the Republican ranks that the new Governor was too much a
professor and doctrinaire; that he was lacking in good-fellowship and
companionship; that while the members of the Legislature who had conferred
with him had found him open and frank, they thought there was a coldness
and an austerity about him which held the Governor aloof and prevented
that intimate contact that was so necessary in working out the programme
we had outlined.

We finally decided that the fault lay in the lack of social intimacy
between the new Governor and the members of the Legislature. In my social
and official contact with Mr. Wilson I always found him most genial and
agreeable. When we were at luncheon or dinner at the old Sterling Hotel in
Trenton he would never burden our little talks by any weighty discussion
of important matters that were pending before him. He entirely forgot all
business and gave himself over to the telling of delightful stories. How
to make the real good-fellowship of the man an asset in dealing with the
members of the Senate was a problem. I very frankly told him one day at
luncheon that many members of both legislative bodies felt that he was too
stiff and academic and that they were anxious to find out for themselves
if there was a more human side to him. In order to give him an opportunity
to overcome this false impression we arranged a delightful dinner at the
Trenton Country Club, to which we invited both Democratic and Republican
members of the Senate. The evening was a delightful one. In the corner of
the little room where the dinner was served sat three darky musicians who
regaled the little group with fine old southern melodies. It was real fun
to watch the new Governor's conduct in this environment. He was like a boy
out of school. He was no longer the college professor or the cold man of
affairs. He delighted the members of the Senate who sat about him with
amusing stories, witty remarks, and delightful bits of sarcasm. At the
close of the dinner, Senator Frelinghuysen walked over and challenged him
to a Virginia Reel. He accepted this invitation and the crowd of men were
soon delighted to see the Somerset senator lead the new Governor out on
the floor and his long legs were soon moving in rhythm with the music.

[Illustration:

    Telegram.

    The White House
    Washington

    3 RN JM 75 Govt.
    114pm

    Windsor, Vermont, July 5, 1915

    Hon. Jos. P. Tumulty,
    The White House,
    Washington, D.C.

    ---- is down and out in his newspaper work and desperately in need of
    employment. Says there is a vacancy as foreign trade adviser in the
    State Department and also one in the District Play Grounds department.
    Would be very much obliged if you would see if something can be done
    for him in either place. His address 221 A. Street, Northeast.

    Woodrow Wilson.

       *        *        *        *        *

    Dear Tumulty,

    I want to issue this statement to help Mr. Hoover and his Commission
    in the splendid work they are doing, and head off mischief-makers (or,
    rather, one particular mischief-maker who is a little out of his mind)
    on this side the water.

    Will you not please read it to Lansing over the phone and, if he has
    no objection to offer, give it out?

A glimpse at the President's human side.]

After all, men are just boys, and this bringing together of these
practical men on so happy and free an occasion did much to convince the
members of the Senate that the new Governor after all was like themselves,
a plain, simple man, modestly trying to serve the interests of a great
state.

This affair broke the ice, and after that there was a close intimacy
between the Governor and the members of the Legislature, both Democrats
and Republicans, and this coöperation soon brought about the enactment of
the whole Wilson programme. Never before had so comprehensive a programme
been so expeditiously acted upon by a legislative body. The Legislature
had convened in January and by the middle of April every campaign pledge
that the Governor had made had been kept, although the Senate with which
he had to deal was largely Republican.

As the legislative session progressed it appeared that certain Democratic
senators were reluctant to follow his leadership. Indeed it was also
apparent that the Republicans were alike unwilling to act favourably upon
his legislative suggestions. In this situation he summoned the Democratic
senators and reminded them of the party pledges in the platform and served
notice that if they did not vote for these measures they would have to
explain to their constituents. He then summoned the Republican senators
and said to them, in effect, this: "The legislation proposed was promised
in the Democratic platform. That is not your platform. Therefore, you are
not pledged to this action. But if you obstruct the action I shall have to
trouble you to go with me to your districts and discuss these matters with
your constituents and tell them why you consider this bad legislation and
why you resisted it."

The newspapers of the country soon began to discuss the achievements of
the Wilson administration in New Jersey and immediately the name of the
Governor began to be mentioned in connection with the Presidency.

One of the matters of national importance with which he was called upon to
deal during this legislative session was the passage of railroad grade-
crossing legislation. In response to the agitation that had long existed
in New Jersey for the elimination of grade crossings, the Democrats had
inserted a radical plank in their platform in reference to it, and, acting
upon this, the Legislature had passed a grade-crossing bill, to which the
railroads of the state strenuously objected. It was a matter of the
greatest public interest and importance that for many years had been the
subject of bitter controversies throughout the state. While the bill was
before the Governor for consideration, the railroad attorneys had prepared
long, comprehensive briefs attacking the bill as unjust to the railroads
and as containing many features which in their essence were confiscatory.
When the bill came before the Governor for final action no one considered
for a moment the possibility of a veto, first, because of the traditional
attitude of the Democratic party of New Jersey in the matter of grade
crossings; and, secondly, because of the effect a veto would have upon the
progressive thought of the country. I recall very well my discussion with
him in regard to this most important bill. Realizing that he was at this
time looming up as a national figure, and knowing that the Progressives of
the country were awaiting with keen interest his action on the bill, I
feared the effect upon his political fortunes that a veto of the bill
would undoubtedly have.

The Baltimore Convention was only a few months away and it was clear to me
that no matter how safe and sane were the grounds upon which he would veto
this legislation, his enemies in the Democratic party would charge him
with being influenced by the New Jersey railroad interests who were
engaged in a most vigorous campaign against the passage of this
legislation. In fact, when we came to discuss the matter, I frankly called
this phase of it to his attention. I tried to make him see the effects
such a veto would have upon his political fortunes, but he soon made it
clear to me that he was unmindful of all such consequences. After
thoroughly considering the matter, he finally decided to veto the bill. In
discussing the matter with me, he said: "I realize the unjust and
unfortunate inference that will be drawn by my political enemies from a
veto of this bill, but the bill, as drawn, is unjust and unfair to the
railroads and I ought not to be afraid to say so publicly. I cannot
consider the effect of a veto upon my own political fortunes. If I should
sign this bill it would mean practically a confiscation of railroad
property and I would not be worthy of the trust of a single mail in the
state or in the country were I afraid to do my duty and to protect private
property by my act." His attitude toward the bill was clearly set forth in
the veto, part of which is as follows:

    I know the seriousness and great consequence of the question affected
    by this important measure. There is a demand, well grounded and
    imperative, throughout the state that some practicable legislation
    should be adopted whereby the grade crossings of railways which
    everywhere threaten life and interfere with the convenience of both
    city and rural communities should as rapidly as possible be abolished.
    But there is certainly not a demand in New Jersey for legislation
    which is unjust and impracticable.

           *       *       *       *       *

    The non-enactment of this bill into law will, of course, be a serious
    disappointment to the people of the state, but it will only
    concentrate their attention upon the just and equitable way of
    accomplishing the end in view. I do not believe that the people of the
    state are in such haste as to be willing to work a gross injustice,
    either to the railroads or to private owners of property, or to the
    several communities affected.

Of course his political enemies made free use of this veto in an effort to
injure him throughout the country in every state campaign where his
fortunes as candidate were involved. As a matter of fact, his veto of this
bill did shock the people of the state, but when they seriously considered
the matter in all its aspects, they felt that their governor had, at
least, done an honourable and a courageous thing in refusing to approve
it.

Discussion of him as a strong Presidential possibility was steadily
growing. I had felt a delicacy about talking of this with him, but in a
walk that we were accustomed to take along the banks of the Delaware and
Raritan Canal between office hours, I, one day, made bold to open, the
subject in this way: "It is evident from the newspapers, Governor, that
you are being considered for the Presidency." I could plainly see from the
way he met the suggestion that he did not resent my boldness in opening
the discussion. I told him that we were receiving letters at the Executive
offices from various parts of the country in praise of the programme he
had just put through the legislature. As we discussed the possibilities of
the Presidential situation, he turned to me in the most solemn way, and
putting his hand to his mouth, as if to whisper something, said: "I do not
know, Tumulty, that I would care to be President during the next four
years." And then looking around as if he were afraid uninvited ears might
be listening, he continued: "For the next President will have a war on his
hands, and I am not sure that I would make a good war President." This
reply greatly excited my curiosity and interest and I said: "With what
nation do you think we will have a war?" Very cautiously he said: "I do
not care to name the nation," and our little talk ended. This statement
was made to me in April, 1911. Was it a prophecy of the war that was to
burst upon the world in August, 1914?




CHAPTER XII

COLONEL HARVEY


Upon the completion of the legislative work of the first session of the
New Jersey Legislature the name of Woodrow Wilson quickly forged to the
front as a strong Presidential possibility. Intimate friends, including
Walter Hines Page, afterward United States Ambassador to Great Britain;
Cleveland H. Dodge and Robert Bridges, the two latter old friends and
classmates of the Governor in the famous class of '79 at Princeton, set
about by conferences to launch the Presidential boom of their friend, and
selected for the task of the actual management of the campaign the young
Princetonian, William F. McCombs, then an active and rising young lawyer
of New York. These gentlemen, and other devoted friends and advisers of
the Governor, made up the first Wilson contingent, and at once initiated a
plan of publicity and organization throughout the country. They arranged
to have the New Jersey Governor visit strategic points in the country to
make addresses on a variety of public questions. Whether Colonel Harvey
was behind the scenes as the adviser of this little group I have never
ascertained, but _Harper's Weekly_, then edited by the Colonel, was his
leading supporter in the magazine world, carrying the name of the
Princetonian at its mast-head as a candidate for the Presidency. There
were frequent conferences between the Colonel and the Governor at the
Executive offices, and as a result of these conferences the Wilson boom
soon became a thing to be reckoned with by the Old Guard in control of
party affairs in the nation.

Wilson stock from the moment of the adjournment of the Legislature began
to rise, and his candidacy spread with great rapidity, until in nearly
every state in the Union "Wilson Clubs" were being established. The New
Jersey primaries, where again he met and defeated the Smith forces; the
Ohio primaries, where he split the delegates with the favourite son,
Governor Harmon, a distinguished Democrat; and the Wisconsin primaries, at
which he swept the state, gave a tremendous impetus to the already growing
movement for the "Reform" Governor of New Jersey.

Everything was serenely moving in the Wilson camp, when like a thunderclap
out of a clear sky broke the story of the disagreement between Colonel
Harvey, Marse Henry Watterson, and the Governor of New Jersey. I recall my
conversation with Governor Wilson on the day following the Harvey-
Watterson conference at a New York club. As private secretary to the
Governor, I always made it a rule to keep in close touch with every
conference then being held regarding the political situation, and in this
way I first learned about the Harvey-Watterson meeting which for a few
weeks threatened to destroy all the lines of support that had been built
up throughout the past months of diligent work and organization.

The Governor and I were seated in a trolley car on our way from the State
Capitol to the railroad station in Trenton when he informed me, in the
most casual way and without seeming to understand the possible damage he
had done his own cause, of what followed the conference the previous day.
It was like this: the conference had ended and they were leaving the room
when Colonel Harvey put his hand on Woodrow Wilson's shoulder and said:
"Governor, I want to ask you a frank question, and I want you to give me a
frank answer. In your opinion is the support of _Harper's Weekly_ helping
or hurting you?" In telling me of it Woodrow Wilson said: "I was most
embarrassed, and replied: 'Colonel, I wish you had not asked me that
question.' 'Well, what is the answer?' Colonel Harvey insisted pleasantly.
'Why, Colonel, some of my friends tell me it is not helping me in the
West.' Colonel Harvey said: I was afraid you might feel that way about it,
and we shall have to soft-pedal a bit'." Mr. Wilson was so serenely
unconscious that any offence had been taken that when informed by me a
little later that his name had disappeared from the head of the editorial
column of _Harper's Weekly_ he did not connect this with the interview.
"Was Colonel Harvey offended?" I asked. "He didn't seem to be," was the
Governor's answer.

I immediately scented the danger of the situation and the possibilities of
disaster to his political fortunes that lay in his reply, and I told him
very frankly that I was afraid he had deeply wounded Colonel Harvey and
that it might result in a serious break in their relations. The Governor
seemed grieved at this and said that he hoped such was not the case; that
even after he had expressed himself so freely, Colonel Harvey had been
most kind and agreeable to him and that they had continued to discuss in
the most friendly way the plans for the campaign and that the little
conference had ended without apparent evidence that anything untoward had
happened that might lead to a break in their relations. We then discussed
at length the seriousness of the situation, and as a result of our talk
the Governor wrote Colonel Harvey and endeavoured to make clear what he
had in mind when he answered the question put to him by the Colonel at the
club conference a few days before, not, indeed, by way of apology, but
simply by way of explanation. This letter to the Colonel and a subsequent
one went a long way toward softening the unfortunate impression that had
been created by the publication of the Harvey-Watterson correspondence.
The letters are as follows:

    (Personal)

    University Club
    Fifth Avenue and Fifty-Fourth Street
      December 21, 1911.

    MY DEAR COLONEL:

    Every day I am confirmed in the judgment that my mind is a one-track
    road and can run only one train of thought at a time! A long time
    after that interview with you and Marse Henry at the Manhattan Club it
    came over me that when (at the close of the interview) you asked me
    that question about the _Weekly_ I answered it simply as a matter of
    fact and of business, and said never a word of my sincere gratitude to
    you for all your generous support, or of my hope that it might be
    continued. Forgive me, and forget my manners!

    Faithfully, yours,
      WOODROW WILSON.

To which letter Colonel Harvey sent the following reply:

    (Personal)

    Franklin Square
    New York, January 4, 1912.

    MY DEAR WILSON:

    Replying to your note from the University Club, I think it should get
    without saying that no purely personal issue could arise between you
    and me. Whatever anybody else may surmise, you surely must know that
    in trying to arouse and further your political aspirations during the
    past few years I have been actuated solely by the belief that I was
    rendering a distinct public service.

    The real point at the time of our interview was, as you aptly put it,
    one simply "of fact and of business," and when you stated the fact to
    be that my support was hurting your candidacy, and that you were
    experiencing difficulty in finding a way to counteract its harmful
    effect, the only thing possible for me to do, in simple fairness to
    you, no less than in consideration of my own self-respect, was to
    relieve you of your embarrassment so far as it lay within my power to
    do so, by ceasing to advocate your nomination. That, I think, was
    fully understood between us at the time, and, acting accordingly, I
    took down your name from the head of the _Weekly's_ editorial page
    some days before your letter was written. That seems to be all there
    is to it. Whatever little hurt I may have felt as a consequence of the
    unexpected peremptoriness of your attitude toward me is, of course,
    wholly eliminated by your gracious words.

    Very truly yours,
      GEORGE HARVEY.

To Colonel Harvey's letter Governor Wilson replied as follows:

    (Personal)

    Hotel Astor
    New York, January 11, 1912.

    MY DEAR COL. HARVEY:

    Generous and cordial as was your letter written in reply to my note
    from the University Club, it has left me uneasy, because, in its
    perfect frankness, it shows that I did hurt you by what I so
    tactlessly said at the Knickerbocker Club. I am very much ashamed of
    myself, for there is nothing I am more ashamed of than hurting a true
    friend, however unintentional the hurt may have been. I wanted very
    much to see you in Washington, but was absolutely captured by callers
    every minute I was in my rooms, and when I was not there was
    fulfilling public engagements. I saw you at the dinner but could not
    get at you, and after the dinner was surrounded and prevented from
    getting at you. I am in town to day, to speak this evening, and came
    in early in the hope of catching you at your office.

    For I owe it to you and to my own thought and feeling to tell you how
    grateful I am for all your generous praise and support of me (no one
    has described me more nearly as I would like myself to be than you
    have); how I have admired you for the independence and unhesitating
    courage and individuality of your course; and how far I was from
    desiring that you should cease your support of me in the _Weekly_. You
    will think me very stupid--but I did not think of that as the result
    of my blunt answer to your question. I thought only of the means of
    convincing people of the real independence of the _Weekly's_ position.
    You will remember that that was what we discussed. And now that I have
    unintentionally put you in a false and embarrassing position you heap
    coals of fire on my head by continuing to give out interviews
    favourable to my candidacy!

    All that I can say is that you have proved yourself very big, and that
    I wish I might have an early opportunity to tell you face to face how
    I really feel about it all. With warm regard,

    Cordially and faithfully, yours,
      WOODROW WILSON.

For a while it seemed as if the old relations between the Colonel and the
New Jersey Governor would be resumed, but some unfriendly influence, bent
upon the Governor's undoing, thrust itself into the affair, and soon the
story of the Manhattan Club incident broke about the Princetonian's head
with a fury and bitterness that deeply distressed many of Mr. Wilson's
friends throughout the country. The immediate effect upon his candidacy
was almost disastrous. Charges of ingratitude to the "original Wilson man"
flew thick and fast. Mr. Wilson's enemies throughout the country took up
the charge of ingratitude and soon the stock of the New Jersey man began
to fall, until his immediate friends almost lost heart. The bad effect of
the publication of the Harvey-Watterson correspondence and the bitter
attacks upon the sincerity of the New Jersey Governor were soon
perceptible in the falling away of contributions so necessary to keep
alive the campaign then being carried on throughout the country. The
"band-wagon" crowd began to leave us and jump aboard the Clark, Underwood,
and Harmon booms.

Suddenly, as if over night, a reaction in favour of Governor Wilson began
to set in. The continued pounding and attacks of the reactionary press
soon convinced the progressives in the ranks of the Democratic party that
Wilson was being unjustly condemned, because he had courageously spoken
what many believed to be the truth. At this critical stage of affairs a
thing happened which, routed his enemies. One of the leading publicity men
of the Wilson forces in Washington, realizing the damage that was being
done his chief, inspired a story, through his Washington newspaper
friends, that Wilson was being gibbeted because he refused to accept the
support of Wall Street interests which Harvey and Watterson had offered
him, and that his refusal to accept their offer was the real cause of the
break. This new angle of the Harvey-Watterson episode worked a complete
reversal of opinion.

The clever work of this publicity man in turning the light on what he
conceived to be the real purpose of the Harvey-Watterson conference
probably did injustice to these two gentlemen, but at all events it gave
weight to the impression in the minds of many people throughout the
country that the real reason for the break was Mr. Wilson's refusal to bow
the knee to certain eastern financial interests that were understood to be
behind _Harper's Weekly_. The tide quickly turned against Colonel Harvey
and Marse Henry Watterson. Marse Henry, alone in his suite at the New
Willard Hotel at Washington, and the Colonel away off in his tower at
Deal, New Jersey, were busily engaged in explaining to the public and
attempting, in heroic fashion, to extricate themselves from the
unfortunate implications created by the story of the Wilson publicity man.
What appeared at first blush to be a thing that would destroy the
candidacy of the New Jersey Governor had been, by clever newspaper
manipulation, turned to his advantage and aid.

When the bitterness and rancour caused by this unfortunate incident had
happily passed away Colonel Watterson and I met at a delightful dinner at
Harvey's Restaurant in Washington and discussed the "old fight." The young
fellow who had inspired the story which so grievously distressed Marse
Henry and Colonel Harvey was present at this dinner. Marse Henry was in
fine spirits, and without showing the slightest trace of the old
bitterness, rehearsed the details of this now-famous incident in a witty,
sportsmanlike, and good-natured way, and at its conclusion he turned to my
newspaper friend and laughingly said: "You damn rascal, you are the
scoundrel who sent out the story that Harvey and I were trying to force
Wall Street money on Wilson. However, old man, it did the trick. If it had
not been for the clever use you made of this incident, Wilson never would
have been President."

In a beautiful letter addressed to the President by Marse Henry on
September 24, 1914, conveying his expressions of regret at the death of
the President's first wife, appears the following statement with reference
to the famous Harvey-Watterson controversy:

    I hope that hereafter you and I will better understand one another; in
    any event that the single disagreeable episode will vanish and never
    be thought of more. In Paris last winter I went over the whole matter
    with Mr. McCombs and we quite settled and blotted out our end of it. I
    very much regret the use of any rude word--too much the characteristic
    of our rough-and-tumble political combats--and can truly say that I
    have not only earnestly wished the success of your administration but
    have sought to find points of agreement, not of disagreement.

    I am writing as an old man--old enough to be your father--who has the
    claim upon your consideration that all his life he has pursued the
    ends you yourself have aimed at, if at times too zealously and
    exactingly, yet without self-seeking or rancor.

    Your friend,
      HENRY WATTERSON.

The President's acknowledgment of this letter is as follows:

    September 28, 1914.

    MY DEAR COLONEL WATTERSON:

    Your kind letter has gratified me very deeply. You may be sure that
    any feeling I may have had has long since disappeared and that I feel
    only gratified that you should again and again have come to my support
    in the columns of the _Courier-Journal_. The whole thing was a great
    misunderstanding.

    Sincerely yours,
      WOODROW WILSON.

While the Harvey-Watterson episode ended as above related, there is no
doubt that Woodrow Wilson deeply regretted the whole matter, and, so far
as he was concerned, there was no feeling on his part of unfriendliness or
bitterness toward Colonel Harvey. Indeed, he felt that Colonel Harvey had
unselfishly devoted himself to his cause in the early and trying days of
his candidacy, and that Harvey's support of him was untouched by selfish
interests of any kind. In every way he tried to soften the unfortunate
impression that had been made on the country by what many thought was an
abrupt, ungracious way of treating a friend. An incident in connection
with this matter is worth relating:

One day at the conclusion of the regular Tuesday cabinet meeting the
President and I lingered at the table, as was our custom, and gossiped
about the affairs of the Administration and the country. These discussions
were intimate and frank in every way.

A note in the social column of one of the leading papers of Washington
carried the story that Colonel Harvey's daughter, Miss Dorothy Harvey, was
in town and was a guest at the home of Mrs. Champ Clark. I took occasion
to mention this to the President, suggesting that it would be a gracious
thing on his part and on the part of Mrs. Wilson to invite Miss Harvey to
the Sayre-Wilson wedding which was scheduled to take place a few days
later, hoping that in this way an opening might be made for the resumption
of the old relationship between the Colonel and Mr. Wilson. The President
appeared greatly interested in the suggestion, saying that he would take
it up with Mrs. Wilson at once, assuring me that it could be arranged.
When I saw how readily he acted upon this suggestion, I felt that this was
an opening for a full, frank discussion of his relations with Colonel
Harvey. I approached the subject in this way: "For a long time I have
wanted to discuss Colonel Harvey with you. There is no doubt, Governor,
that this unfortunate episode did not sit well on the stomachs of the
American people. Whether you believe it or not, the country resented your
attitude toward your old friend, and out of this incident an impression
has grown which is becoming stronger with each day, that you pay little
regard to friendship and the obligations that grow out of it. I have been
hoping that in some way the old relationship could be resumed and that you
would feel free at some time in a public way to attest your real feeling
for Colonel Harvey, at least by way of reciprocation for the genuine way
he stood by you in the old days in New Jersey." The President looked at me
in the most serious way, apparently weighing every word I had uttered, and
said: "You are right, Tumulty; unfortunate impressions have been created.
What can I do for Colonel Harvey to attest in some public way my
appreciation of what he did for me in the old days?" I asked why, inasmuch
as McCombs had declined the French Ambassadorship, this post might not be
offered to Colonel Harvey, adding that I believed he coveted and would
appreciate such an appointment. The President said that this was an
admirable suggestion and authorized me to get in touch with Colonel Harvey
at once and make him the offer of the French post.

While my relations with Colonel Harvey were at no time strained, and, in
fact, up to this day our friendship has been uninterrupted, I thought it
would be more tactful if I should approach him through the junior senator
from New York, James O'Gorman. Immediately upon leaving the President I
went to the Army and Navy Club, where Senator O'Gorman was living, and
told him of my conversation with the President in reference to Colonel
Harvey. He was enthusiastic and immediately got in touch with Colonel
Harvey at his home at Deal, New Jersey, told him of the President's offer,
and asked for a conference. Then a thing happened which completely
destroyed these plans for a reconciliation. The following Sunday an
interview signed by Colonel Harvey, bitterly assailing the President,
appeared in the New York _Times_. The fat was in the fire. Senator
O'Gorman and I were silenced. When I approached the President on Monday
morning to discuss further the matter with him, he said: "I greatly regret
this interview of Colonel Harvey. How can I now with propriety offer him
any post? Knowing Harvey as I do, he would be reluctant to take it, for
the country might be of the opinion that he had yielded in his criticism
of me by the offer of this appointment, and I could not in honour make the
appointment now, for it might appear to the country that by this method I
was trying to purchase the silence of the Colonel. I am very sorry,
indeed, that the plan we discussed has fallen to the ground."

And thus the efforts of Mr. Wilson to bring about a reconciliation with
his old friend ended in dismal failure.




CHAPTER XIII

THE "COCKED-HAT" INCIDENT


While Governor Wilson came out of this controversy with the two Colonels,
Harvey and Watterson, with flying colours, he was by no means beyond the
danger line. His enemies both within and without the party hotly contested
his leadership, and the bitterness of the opposition grew in proportion as
his candidacy gained daily advantages. Everything possible was done to
block his progress and to make more difficult his road to the Presidency.
Everything he had ever said or written, especially his "History of the
American People," was carefully examined in the hope of finding some way
to discredit him. All the guns of the opposition were turned upon him, but
nothing seemed sufficient to block his progress. All the charges,
intimations, insinuations, and slanders that were industriously circulated
by his enemies were without effect, and the trained political minds in his
own camp were apprehensive lest his candidacy had reached its climax too
long before the convention. How to maintain the present advantage was the
problem that perplexed them. They were hopefully looking forward to the
benefits that would accrue to their candidate in the round-up of
candidates at the famous Jackson Day dinner, scheduled for early January,
1912. This dinner was an annual affair and was eagerly looked forward to.
It was expected that the leading lights of the Democratic party would
attend this dinner, including Colonel W. J. Bryan, Champ Clark, Oscar
Underwood, ex-Governor Folk of Missouri, Roger Sullivan of Illinois, and
the New Jersey Governor's friends were confident that because of his
ability as a public speaker he would make a strong and favourable
impression. They were not disappointed.

We were awaiting the Jackson Day dinner with great expectations, and
congratulating ourselves that we were now safely "out of the woods," and
that things would move smoothly for our candidate, when like a bolt from,
the blue came the publication of the famous Joline "cocked-hat" letter,
which caused another panic in the ranks of the too-optimistic Wilson
forces.

This letter was written by Mr. Wilson to Mr. Adrian Joline, a Princeton
alumnus and prominent New York lawyer at the time of the split in the
Democratic party over the silver question. The letter is as follows:

    Princeton, New Jersey,
      April 29, 1907.

    MY DEAR MR. JOLINE:

    Thank you very much for sending me your address at Parsons, Kan.,
    before the board of directors of the Missouri, Kansas & Texas Railway
    Company. I have read it with relish and entire agreement. Would that
    we could do something, at once dignified and effective, to knock Mr.
    Bryan once for all into a cocked hat!

    Cordially and sincerely yours,
      WOODROW WILSON.

The publication of this letter came at a most inopportune time for the
Wilson candidacy, and how to meet it was one of the most difficult
problems that the Wilson forces had to face. Our enemies were jubilant.
They felt that at last they had broken our lines and that we would not be
able to "come back."

At this time I was at the State House at Trenton and I received a telegram
from the Governor, requesting that I come at once to Washington, where he
was conferring with the leaders of his forces in an effort to find some
way to neutralize the bad effects of the Joline cocked-hat story in
advance of the Jackson Day banquet, at which Mr. Bryan would be present.
On my arrival in Washington I went to the Willard Hotel and found the
Governor hi a conference with William F. McCombs, Tom Pence, Senator
O'Gorman, and Dudley Field Malone. We discussed the situation fully and
the character of reply the Governor should make by way of explanation of
the Joline letter. Mr. Josephus Daniels, a friend and associate of Mr.
Bryan, was sent to confer with Mr. Bryan in order that Mr. Wilson might
have a close friend at hand who could interpret the motives which lay back
of the Joline letter and impress upon Mr. Bryan the present favourable
attitude of Mr. Wilson toward him. Mr. McCombs suggested that the Governor
address an open letter to Mr. Bryan, voicing his regret over the
publication of this letter and assuring him of his present kindly feelings
toward him. I vigorously opposed Mr. McCombs' suggestion, arguing that no
explanation of the Joline letter could be made to Mr. Bryan that would
wear the appearance of sincerity, or be convincing, and that the letter
having been written there was nothing to do to extenuate it in any way and
that the wise thing was to make a virtue of necessity. I suggested that on
the following night, when the Governor was to deliver his address at the
Jackson Day dinner, he could, in the most generous and kindly way, pay a
handsome tribute to Mr. Bryan for his unselfish service to the Democratic
party throughout the dark years he had been its leader; that I felt that
he would appreciate a tribute of this kind and that he would resent any
explanation of this incident which would appear to be truckling or
apologetic in character. This plan was finally agreed upon. In the very
beginning of his speech, in the most tactful way, Governor Wilson paid a
tribute to the Great Commoner by saying, as he turned to Mr. Bryan: "When
others were faint-hearted, Colonel Bryan carried the Democratic standard.
He kept the 'fires burning' which have heartened and encouraged the
democracy of the country."

The speech at the Jackson Day dinner was a triumph for Woodrow Wilson.
While it was a tempestuous voyage for him, with many dangerous eddies to
be avoided, he emerged from the experience with his prestige enhanced and
with his candidacy throughout the country strengthened. The Bryan-Joline
crisis was safely passed. In the presence of the newspaper men at the
banquet, Mr. Bryan put his arm around Mr. Wilson's shoulders in an
affectionate way, and thus happily concluded the incident which for a time
threatened to wreck a great enterprise.

On his return from Washington to Trenton, Governor Wilson told me that Mr.
Bryan had bidden him not to worry about the publication of the Joline
letter, saying: "I, of course, knew that you were not with me in my
position on the currency," and Woodrow Wilson replied: "All I can say, Mr.
Bryan, is that you are a great, big man."




CHAPTER XIV

WILSON AND THE OLD GUARD


Old line politicians, like Roger Sullivan of Illinois and Tom Taggart of
Indiana, were turned to the Princetonian by his notable speech at the
Jackson Day dinner and now gave sympathetic ear to the New Jersey
Governor's claims for the nomination. An incident which happened at the
conclusion of the banquet, as the Governor was on his way to make his
train for New Jersey, illustrates the character of the victory he had won
over difficulties which at the time seemed insurmountable. The old
Illinois leader, Roger Sullivan, greeted the candidate in the most
friendly way as he left the banquet hall, saying to him as he grasped his
hand: "That was a great speech, Governor," and then, drawing closer to
him, added: "I cannot say to you now just what the Illinois delegation
will do, but you may rely upon it, I will be there when you need me," This
remark did not seem of importance at the time, but when we discussed the
incident the next day at the Capitol at Trenton we both felt that, at a
critical moment of the convention Roger Sullivan could be relied upon to
support us and to throw the vote of Illinois our way. Sullivan kept his
promise in real, generous fashion. When it seemed as if the Baltimore
Convention was at the point of deadlock, and after the Illinois delegation
had voted many times for Champ Clark, Sullivan threw the full support of
Illinois to the New Jersey Governor, and thus the tide was quickly turned
in favour of Mr. Wilson's candidacy for the Presidency.

I had often wondered what influence beyond this Jackson Day banquet speech
had induced this grizzly old political warrior to support Woodrow Wilson.
Afterward I learned the real cause of it from men who kept in close touch
with the Illinois delegation during the trying days of the Baltimore
Convention.

Everyone who knew Roger Sullivan knew the great influence which both his
fine wife and devoted son wielded over him. His son, Boetius, a Harvard
graduate, had early become a Wilson devotee and supporter, and the
correspondence between father, mother, and son, contained a spirited
discussion of the availability of the New Jersey man for the Democratic
nomination. The interest of Mrs. Sullivan and her son continued throughout
the days of the Convention, which they both attended, and at the most
critical moment in the proceedings of the Convention when a point was
arrived at when the Illinois vote was decisive, the Illinois leader left a
conference where he was being strongly urged by Mr. Wilson's friends to
support the New Jersey Governor, to have a final conference with Mrs.
Sullivan and their son before he would finally agree to throw his support
to Wilson.

Everyone at Baltimore knows the result of this conference and how the
inner councils of the Sullivan family prevailed. Illinois swung to Wilson
and he was soon nominated. It was said, after the New Jersey man's
nomination and election, that he showed base ingratitude to Roger
Sullivan, the man who more than any other single individual in the
Convention had brought about his nomination. Mr. Sullivan's devoted
friends in Illinois were particularly bitter at the apparent coldness of
Mr. Wilson toward their friend and idol. The President, as a matter of
fact, was never unmindful of his obligation to Sullivan for the personally
loyal way he had stood by him at Baltimore, and in every way while he was
President he let those associated with him know that Sullivan and his
friends, wherever it was possible, should be preferred in the matter of
the distribution of patronage in Illinois.

The thing, however, which irritated Sullivan's friends and made many of
them irreconcilable foes of Woodrow Wilson was his apparent unwillingness
to say a good word for Sullivan when he announced his candidacy for the
United States senatorship of Illinois. This presented an opportunity for
President Wilson to pay the old debt and "even up" things with Roger.
Realizing the delicacy of the situation and how deeply the progressive
element in the Democratic party throughout the country might misunderstand
and even resent his putting his "okeh" on the candidacy of the Illinois
leader for the senatorship, nevertheless, upon considering the matter, he
decided to do so and prepared a generous and wholehearted letter of
endorsement of Sullivan. He felt that as a good sportsman he was bound in
honour to do this for the man whose influence and support, thrown to him
at the right moment of the Convention, had brought about his nomination
for the Presidency. But there were other and deeper reasons urging him on
to endorse his old friend. He knew how eagerly and earnestly Sullivan had
fought for him at Baltimore and how in doing so he had won the enmity of
the eastern wing of the Democratic party. The old bosses in the party,
like Smith and Murphy, had often twitted Sullivan on his support of Wilson
and threatened reprisals. Sullivan, however, stood like adamant against
these influences and showed an allegiance to the New Jerseyman which
earned the admiration and affection of every Wilsonite in the country. The
President felt confident that should Roger Sullivan be elected to the
Senate, he could count upon him to stand by and loyally support him and
the Administration. At this very time the President was beginning to
realize in the keenest way the necessity for real, loyal backing in the
Senate. Many of the men whom he had personally supported for the Senate in
the various senatorial fights throughout the country, especially those who
were known as progressive senators, like Hardwick and Smith of Georgia,
O'Gorman of New York, and Martine of New Jersey, had grown indifferent and
were reluctant to follow his leadership in anything. The so-called Old
Guard in the Senate, made up of men like Mark Smith of Arizona, Senators
Martin and Swanson of Virginia, Ollie James of Kentucky, John Sharp
Williams of Mississippi, Joe Robinson of Arkansas, Billy Hughes of New
Jersey, Senator Culberson of Texas, Senator Simmons of North Carolina, and
Senator Smith of Maryland, contrary to every prophecy and prediction made
by their enemies, stood with the President through every fight in the
finest and handsomest way, never deserting his leadership for a moment.
Often he would say to me when we were discussing the senatorial situation:
"My head is with the progressives in the Democratic party, but my heart,
because of the way they stood by me, is with the so-called Old Guard in
the Senate. They stand without hitching." He knew that, while Roger
Sullivan was a conservative, he could be relied upon in every emergency to
back him up even to the point of sacrifice. What President Wilson wanted
more than anything else, as he often said, was a team that would work with
him. Sullivan was just this type of man, and beyond everything else his
loyalty had been tested and could be relied upon in every emergency.

In the light of these circumstances, the President decided finally to
throw his hat in the ring in favour of the boss of Illinois for the United
States senatorship. The letter advocating Sullivan's election was dictated
and signed by the President, and is as follows:

    THE WHITE HOUSE
    WASHINGTON
      October 12, 1914.

    MY DEAR MR. RANEY:

    I have read with the greatest interest the account you were kind
    enough to send  me of the Illinois Democratic State Convention. It is
    full of fine promise for  the party; for it shows all the elements of
    the party heartily drawing together  for a successful campaign; and
    with this union success is sure to come.

    You call my attention to the fact that some Democrats are urging
    voters to cast  their ballots for the Progressive candidate for the
    Senate of the United States  rather than for the nominee of the
    Democratic primaries. You ask me if I approve  of this. I do not. I
    have held myself very strictly to the principle that as a  party man I
    am bound by the free choice of the people at the polls. I have  always
    stood by the result of the primaries; I shall always do so; and I
    think  it the duty of every Democrat to do so who cares for the
    success and sincerity  of his party. Mr. Sullivan has been selected in
    a fair primary, and therefore he  is entitled to the support of his
    party.

    Sincerely yours,
      WOODROW WILSON.

    HON. HENRY T. RAINEY,
    House of Representatives.

This letter and the contents of it will be a matter of news to Sullivan's
friends throughout the country. Many, doubtless, will inquire why it was
not published at the time. The reason it failed to reach the stage of
publication can in no way be attributed to Woodrow Wilson. He never
recalled it and the original is in my files. This may be surprising news
to the friends of the dead leader, Roger Sullivan, but it is only fair to
Mr. Wilson to say that he never hesitated in rushing to the defence of his
old friend in the most generous way. He wrote this letter with the full
realization of just how much it might personally injure him with the
progressive thought of the country. The letter, after being written and
signed by the President, was held in reserve by me until Sullivan's
friends in Chicago, those in close touch with his affairs there, felt free
to advise its publication. I was directed by them to release it, but the
order for its release was countermanded by one of the advisers close to
Sullivan, who telephoned me that it was thought inadvisable to have the
President come into the campaign in Sullivan's behalf, the reason being
that the publication of Wilson's letter might arouse the passionate
antagonism of Theodore Roosevelt, who was about to begin a tour of
Illinois in behalf of Sullivan's opponent. I was advised later that the
individual with whom I dealt in this matter and upon whose direction the
letter was withheld from publication had no authority to act for Sullivan
in the matter and that Sullivan and his friends were deeply disappointed
at Mr. Wilson's apparent unwillingness to take up the cudgel for his old
friend. Many times I tried to make clear to Sullivan's friends just what
the attitude of the President was, but whether I succeeded I do not know.
The President, secluded in the White House, away from the madding crowd,
never realized the basis of Sullivan's disappointment, for he felt that he
had "gone through" for his friend and had not forgotten for a moment
Sullivan's advocacy of him at Baltimore, When the news of Sullivan's death
was brought to him at a time when he, also, was seriously ill, his lips
quivered, great tears stood in his eyes, and turning to Mrs. Wilson, who
stood beside his bed, he said: "Roger Sullivan was a wonderful and devoted
friend at Baltimore," and then, turning to me, he said: "Tumulty, I
sincerely hope that you will personally go to Chicago and attend the
funeral and tell Mrs. Sullivan how deeply I grieve over the death of my
old friend."




CHAPTER XV

MR. BRYAN ISSUES A CHALLENGE


The contests for the delegates to the National Convention were on in full
swing throughout the various states. In the early contests, particularly
in the far western states, like Utah, South Dakota, North Dakota, and
Montana, the Wilson candidacy, according to primary returns, began to take
on the appearance of a real, robust boom. As the critical days of the
Convention approached, evidences of a recession of the favourable tide to
Wilson began to manifest themselves, particularly in the states of
Massachusetts and Illinois, both of which swung to Clark, with New York in
the offing quietly favouring Champ Clark. It was clear to the campaign
managers of Wilson that from a psychological standpoint the pivotal states
were New Jersey and Ohio; New Jersey, because ex-Senator Smith had again
challenged the leadership of Wilson and had notified his friends
throughout the country that New Jersey could be relied upon to repudiate
its governor in an overwhelming fashion. Smith had made deals and
combinations with all the disgruntled elements of the state, and with
powerful financial backing from the so-called interests in New Jersey and
New York and the mighty support of the Hearst newspapers, he was pressing
the New Jersey man closely, until at times it seemed as if he might
succeed in at least splitting the delegation. The friends of the New
Jersey man, therefore, realizing the effect upon the democracy of the
country of an adverse verdict in his home state, concentrated all possible
forces at this critical point. In the meantime, and before the actual
determination of the issue in New Jersey, Wisconsin and Pennsylvania swung
into the Wilson column, and the Ohio primaries resulted in a split
delegation between Wilson and Harmon, in Harmon's home state. All eyes
were, therefore, intently watching New Jersey. A repudiation would be
disastrous, although the old-timers in the Wilson camp tried to encourage
us by saying that even though New Jersey might turn against its governor,
Grover Cleveland, under similar circumstances in 1892, despite the
opposition of his home state, had been nominated and elected President.
But, fortunately for us, New Jersey in the handsomest way stood by her
favourite son. The news of New Jersey's endorsement was flashed through
the country, and there was jubilation in every Wilson camp. The day
following the New Jersey primaries the New York _World_, the great
Democratic paper, carried a striking editorial under the caption of
"WOODROW WILSON FOR PRESIDENT." The New Jersey primaries and the Ohio
results were great feathers in the caps of the Wilson men, and with
enthusiasm and ardour they followed up this advantage.

As the days for the opening of the Baltimore Convention approached the New
Jersey Governor and his family left Princeton for Sea Girt, a delightful
place along the Atlantic seaboard, where the state of New Jersey had
provided for its governor an executive mansion, a charming cottage, a
replica of General Washington's headquarters at Morristown. With us to
these headquarters, to keep vigil as it were over the New Jersey Governor,
went a galaxy of newspaper men, representing the leading papers of the
country.

The first, and indeed the most important, situation the candidate was
called upon to handle at Sea Girt as a preliminary to the Convention was
his reply to the now famous Bryan-Parker telegrams, which played so
important a part in the deliberations and indeed in the character of the
whole Convention--It will be recalled that Mr. Bryan, who was in
attendance at the Republican Convention at Chicago as a special
correspondent, had telegraphed an identic telegram to each of the
Democratic candidates, Messrs. Clark, Underwood, Wilson, and Harmon, as
follows:

    Chicago, June, 1912.

    In the interest of harmony, I suggest to the sub-committee of the
    Democratic National Committee the advisability of recommending as
    temporary chairman some progressive acceptable to the leading
    progressive candidates for the Presidential nomination. I take it for
    granted that no committeeman interested in Democratic success would
    desire to offend the members of a convention overwhelmingly
    progressive by naming a reactionary to sound the keynote of the
    campaign.

    Eight members of the sub-committee, however, have, over the protest of
    the remaining eight, agreed upon not only a Reactionary but upon the
    one Democrat who, among those not candidates for the Presidential
    nomination, is, in the eyes of the public, most conspicuously
    identified with the reactionary element of the party.

    I shall be pleased to join you and your friends in opposing his
    selection by the full committee or by the Convention. Kindly answer
    here.

    W. J. BRYAN.

I was on my way from New York to Sea Girt when I read a copy of this
telegram in the evening papers. I believe that I grasped the full
significance of this move on the part of Mr. Bryan. In fact, I became so
anxious about it that I left the train before reaching my destination, in
order to say to Governor Wilson over the 'phone how important I thought
the message really was and how cautiously it should be handled. I tried to
impress upon him the importance of the answer he was called upon to make
to Mr. Bryan. He calmly informed me that he had not yet received the
telegram and that he would, of course, give me an opportunity to discuss
the matter with him before making his reply.

It was clear that Mr. Bryan, whose influence in the councils of the
Democratic party at that time was very great, was seeking by this method
to ascertain from leading Presidential candidates like Wilson, Underwood,
Clark, and Harmon, just how they felt about the efforts of the New York
delegation, led by the Tammany boss, Charlie Murphy, and the conservative
element of the Democratic party in the East, to control the Convention and
to give it the most conservative and standpat appearance by controlling
the preliminary organization and nominating Alton B. Parker as temporary
chairman. For many weeks previous to the Convention it had been rumoured
that that was the programme and that the real purpose which lay behind it
was to unhorse Bryan and to end for all time his control and that of the
radicals of the West over the affairs of the Democratic party. It was a
recrudescence of the old fight of 1896, between the conservative East and
the radical West--Bryan assuming, of course, the leadership of the
radicals of the West, and Charlie Murphy and his group acting as the
spokesmen of the conservative East.

It was clear to me that Bryan anticipated just what replies Underwood,
Clark, and Harmon would make to his inquiry. Whether he was certain of
what the New Jersey Governor would say in answer to his telegram, I never
could ascertain. Indeed, many of the New Jersey Governor's supporters were
ungenerous enough to say that behind the inquiry lay a selfish purpose;
that Mr. Bryan took this method to reestablish his leadership and to place
himself at the forefront of the liberal, progressive forces of the
Convention.

It is clear, as one looks back upon this incident, that a misstep in the
handling of this inquiry from Mr. Bryan might have been fatal to the New
Jersey man's candidacy.

When I arrived at Sea Girt to discuss the matter with Governor Wilson, I
was surprised to find that he had not even read the telegram, although a
copy of it lay upon his desk, and when he did read it and we were
discussing it he did not share my view of its great importance. In
attempting to emphasize its importance I experienced one of the most
difficult jobs I ever had in the eleven years I was associated with
Woodrow Wilson. In vain I tried to impress upon him what I believed to be
the purpose which lay behind the whole business; that his reply would
determine the question as to whether he was going to line up with the
progressive element which was strong in the West, or whether he would take
sides with those of the conservative East, many of whom were bitterly
opposed to him. He finally informed me that he was in touch with Mr.
McCombs, his campaign manager at Baltimore, and that he would not reply to
Mr. Bryan's telegram until he received some word from the former as to
what his opinion was in regard to handling this difficult matter. I left
him, after impressing upon him the necessity of early action, lest our
progressive friends both at Baltimore and throughout the country who were
awaiting word from us should be disappointed by his apparent unwillingness
to take his position with the progressives.

The newspaper correspondents at Sea Girt, realizing the importance of the
candidate's decision, industriously kept upon our trail to find out what
reply would be made to Mr. Bryan. The direct wire between Baltimore and
Sea Girt was kept busy with inquiries from our friends as to what attitude
we were taking in the matter. While my relations with McCombs at the time
were of the friendliest sort, I feared that the Eastern environment in
which he lived, and his attempt to bring Tammany into camp for the New
Jersey Governor, would necessarily play a large part in influencing his
judgment, and I was apprehensive lest Governor Wilson should be too much
inclined to accept Mr. McCombs' final judgment in the matter.

On June 21, 1912, the following telegram came from Mr. McCombs, as the
basis of a proposed reply to Mr. Bryan by the New Jersey Governor:

    Baltimore, June 21, 1912.

    HON. WILLIAM J. BRYAN
    Lincoln, Nebraska.

    I quite agree with you that the temporary chairman of the Convention
    should voice the sentiments of the democracy of the nation which I am
    convinced is distinctly progressive. However, before receiving your
    telegram I had given the following statement for publication in the
    Baltimore _Evening Sun_: My friends in Baltimore are on the people's
    side in everything that affects the organization of the Convention.
    They are certain not to forget their standards as they have already
    shown. It is not necessary that I should remind them of these
    standards from New Jersey and I have neither the right nor the desire
    to direct the organization of a convention of which I am not even a
    member.

    (signed) MCCOMBS

I was greatly disappointed, of course, at the character of reply suggested
by McCombs and argued with the Governor at length on what I considered
would be the disastrous effects of making a reply such as the one
contained in the above telegram. Clearly, Mr. McCombs' suggested reply was
a rebuke to Mr. Bryan and a bid for the Eastern vote in the convention. Of
course, Governor Wilson was most reluctant to disregard the advice of
McCombs. He felt that he (McCombs) was "on the job" at Baltimore and more
intimately in touch with the situation than he himself could be at Sea
Girt. After a long discussion of the matter, the proposed reply prepared
by McCombs was ignored and the following telegram was prepared and sent by
Woodrow Wilson:

    W. J. BRYAN, Chicago:

   You are quite right. Before hearing of your message I clearly stated my
    position in answer to a question from the Baltimore Evening Sun. The
    Baltimore Convention is to be a convention of Progressives, of men who
    are progressive in principle and by conviction. It must, if it is not
    to be put in a wrong light before the country, express its convictions
    in its organization and in its choice of the men who are to speak for
    it. You are to be a member of the Convention and are entirely within
    your rights in doing everything within your power to bring that result
    about. No one will doubt where my sympathies lie and you will, I am
    sure, find my friends in the Convention acting upon clear conviction
    and always in the interest of the people's cause. I am happy in the
    confidence that they need no suggestion from me.

    (Signed) WOODROW WILSON.

This reply, more than any other single thing, changed the whole attitude
and temper of the Convention toward Woodrow Wilson. The progressive forces
in it were seeking leadership and Mr. Bryan, by his inquiry, had provided
an opportunity, of which. Mr. Wilson took full advantage.

An interesting incident occurred in connection with this affair. Being
unable to induce the Governor quickly to reply to Mr. Bryan, and realizing
that our friends at Baltimore would expect him to agree with Mr. Bryan,
and thus take his place with the progressive element in the Convention, I
was firmly convinced that he would at the end be found in agreement with
Mr. Bryan. I, therefore, took the liberty of saying to the newspaper men
in our group--those who were favourably disposed to us--that when Mr.
Wilson did reply to Mr. Bryan he would be found in harmony with the
Commoner's ideas. This unofficial tip was immediately conveyed to
Baltimore and our friends, after returning from the Convention, told me
how this piece of inspired information had put heart in our men, and that
on a bulletin board before the Baltimore _Sun_ offices there was posted
the announcement "WILSON AGREES WITH BRYAN" and before it hundreds of
Wilson men gathered, cheering the message of the New Jersey Governor.

The reply of the New Jersey Governor was prepared by him while he was
seated on the side of a little bed in one of the rooms of the Sea Girt
cottage. He looked at me intently, holding a pad and pencil in his hands,
and then wrote these significant words to Mr. Bryan: "_You are right_."

I have often wondered what effect on the Convention McCombs' proposed
reply, which contained a rebuke to Mr. Bryan, would have had. From that
time on Mr. Bryan was the devoted friend of the New Jersey Governor. Mr.
Wilson's reply had convinced the Nebraskan that the Governor was not
afraid to accept the issue and that he was in favour of supporting a
preliminary organization that was to be progressive both in principle and
by conviction.

McCombs was obsessed with the idea that the New York delegation must be
won; that everything else was negligible compared with that. Therefore he
wished Mr. Wilson in his reply to say something that would be considered
by the New York delegation as a public rebuke to Mr. Bryan. I afterward
learned that McCombs, nervous, incapable of standing the strain and
excitement of the Convention, had retired to a friend's house at Baltimore
where, after the Woodrow Wilson telegram to William Jennings Bryan, he was
found in a room, lying across a bed, crying miserably. To the inquiries of
his friends as to what was the matter with him McCombs replied, weeping,
that the Governor had spoiled everything by his telegram to Bryan; that
had the Governor followed his [McCombs'] advice, he could have been
nominated.

The direct wire between the Sea Girt cottage and the Wilson headquarters
at Baltimore was kept busy from early morning until late at night. The
telephone exchange in the cottage was so arranged that a branch telephone
was kept in the little room under the stairway, which constituted a sort
of listening post, which permitted me, in accordance with the suggestion
of the Governor himself, to listen in on conversations, not by way of
eavesdropping, but in order that we might intelligently confer after each
conversation on the various matters that might have to be decided upon
with reference to the organization of the convention. Many of the
momentous questions having to do with the conduct of the Convention were
discussed and settled over this 'phone. The most frequent users of the
'phone during these days were Colonel Bryan and Mr. McCombs, our campaign
manager. During the opening days of the Convention I made it my business
to keep in close touch with Baltimore both by conversations over the
'phone with the active managers of the Wilson boom and by carefully
reading each morning the news items appearing in the New York _Times_, New
York _World_, and the Baltimore _Sun_, this last-named paper being one of
the leading advocates of the Wilson candidacy in the country.

I was personally, and in some cases intimately, acquainted with the
special writers on these great journals and knew from previous contact
with them that they were on the "inside" of the situation at Baltimore,
and in this way much information was gleaned which proved helpful in
keeping us in touch with the many happenings at the Convention.

Having successfully passed through the Bryan-Parker crisis, we decided
upon a kind of strategy that would win to our side the various progressive
elements in the Convention. In line with this idea, we suggested to our
managers at Baltimore the advisability of putting forward the name of
Ollie M. James of Kentucky for permanent chairman of the Convention. While
he was a staunch Clark man and a devoted follower of Mr. Bryan, we knew he
could be relied upon to give us a fair deal as the presiding officer of
the Convention. There was another reason, too. Away off in Sea Girt we
gathered the impression that the sober second thought of the Convention
favoured his selection and that even though we might fail in our attempt
to nominate him for this office, our efforts at least in this regard would
give the impression to those who looked with favour upon Wilson as their
second choice. Another reason was this: We were not afraid to trust our
cause to a Clark man, and Ollie James for many years had been the idol of
convention crowds. When, upon the conclusion of the Bryan-Parker episode,
Mr. Bryan telephoned Sea Girt to discuss with the Governor the matter of
the chairmanship, he was greatly surprised and pleased to have the
Governor say, in the most hearty way that, upon canvassing the whole
situation, he felt it would be an admirable and just thing to select Ollie
James of Kentucky. Mr. Bryan said: "But, Governor Wilson, Mr. James is in
the Convention as a Clark man." "It does not matter," was the Governor's
reply. "He is our kind of a fellow, and I am sure my friends can rely upon
him to treat our cause well." From Mr. Bryan's subsequent conversations
over the telephone it clearly appeared that he was delighted at the
suggestion of his own intimate friend, and it was plain that he was being
convinced from moves of this kind by the New Jersey Governor that Woodrow
Wilson was willing to stand or fall with him in attempting to organize the
Convention along progressive lines.

Years after the Convention the senator from Kentucky, who became my
closest and dearest friend, and who distinguished himself as a member of
the Senate, and who was one of the staunchest defenders of the President
and the Administration, told me of the wisdom which he thought lay behind
the suggestion of himself for the chairmanship; that we, at Sea Girt,
rightly sensed the situation and that the suggestion of his name had done
more than anything else to convince the men in the Convention of the
genuine character of the New Jersey Governor's progressiveness. We felt
that strategic moves of this kind appealed to the progressive thought in
the Convention and went far to remove the strange impression many of the
delegates had that Wilson was a rank conservative. It was plainly
perceptible that these acts were quickly turning the progressives in the
Convention toward our candidate.

In following these suggestions, we were, in fact, acting independently of
the New Jersey Governor's advisers at Baltimore. It was plain to be seen
that the battle at Baltimore would finally simmer down to a contest
between the reactionaries and the progressives, and we decided at Sea Girt
that in every move that was to be made our purpose should be to win the
progressive support in the Convention. McCombs was at no time found in
harmony with this action, his principal activities at Baltimore being
given over to an attempt to win for the New Jersey Governor the support of
the conservatives of the East, and, particularly, New York, whose seventy-
six votes he thought the great prize of the Convention.




CHAPTER XVI

THE BALTIMORE CONVENTION


At Sea Girt we kept in close touch with our friends at Baltimore, so that
after each ballot the New Jersey candidate was apprised of the result.
During the trying days and nights of the Convention the only eager and
anxious ones in the family group, besides myself, were Mrs. Wilson and the
Wilson girls. The candidate himself indeed seemed to take only perfunctory
interest in what was happening at Baltimore. He never allowed a single
ballot or the changes 

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