THE CAMPAIGN OF 1916
In January, 1916, I applied to the State Department for a leave of
absence, so that I might pay a visit to the United States, which I had
not seen for more than two years. I had begun to feel the effects of the
nervous strain of my labours to avert the terrible fate of the Armenians
and Jews. These labours, and my experiences with German diplomatic
intrigue in Constantinople during the war, have already been described
in my earlier book, published in 1918 under the title, “Ambassador
Morgenthau’s Story,” to which I must refer any of my readers who are
interested to pursue my Turkish experiences further.
I spent the first few days after my return to the United States with my
old political friends in Washington, and I was shocked at the prevailing
political atmosphere. Not one of the numerous men high in the
Administration with whom I talked had the slightest hope that President
Wilson could be reëlected that fall. They were all convinced that, as
the breach in the Republican Party had been healed, our political
opponents were prepared to present a united front and were determined to
win; and that, on the other hand, the Administration had made so many
enemies in the preceding three years that the President’s defeat in
November was a foregone conclusion. Tammany had received no
consideration at his hands, and was very bitter; and hence there was
little likelihood of our carrying New York. “Organization leaders,”
otherwise the bosses, generally, had been ignored, and the party
machinery was rusty from disuse, where it was not actually broken down
by dissension. William G. McAdoo told me frankly of his intention
shortly to resign from the Cabinet and return to private business.
Josephus Daniels spoke hopelessly of the political outlook. Frank L.
Polk and Franklin D. Roosevelt gave me the same picture of party
dissension, apathy, and despair. Even Senator James A. O’Gorman of New
York, whom I had known for many years as a man of native optimism and
Irish courage, said to me: “Henry, it is sheer insanity to talk of
reëlecting President Wilson. He hasn’t a ghost of a chance. I am
convinced that the Democratic Party will be buried under a Republican
landslide this fall.” But after listening to my enthusiastic arguments
to prove that the President simply must be reëlected and that we could
convince the country of this necessity, he shared my conviction. He
said: “Henry, if I had had your viewpoint on this matter earlier, I
would have modified my attitude. But I have gone too far now: with my
record behind me, I cannot make a fight for reëlection as Senator.”
My conversation with these men shocked me, but did not depress me. It
aroused my fighting spirit. To my mind, the reëlection of President
Wilson offered not merely an opportunity for partisan advantage, but I
felt profoundly that the condition of international affairs made it a
vital necessity to our safety as a nation, and to the cause of humanity
the world over, because the rest of the world was looking to Mr. Wilson
to be ultimately the man who should bring about peace. I pointed out to
my friends the force of these arguments, and the folly, from our
national point of view, of changing Administrations at such a critical
juncture in our history. If a Republican were elected in November, Mr.
Wilson’s hands would practically be tied for the remaining four months
of his Administration, while the President-Elect would be equally
impotent to take effective measures to safeguard our interests in
international affairs.
I stressed the need to arouse the party from its lethargy, and to begin
at once a powerful and nation-wide campaign to reëlect the President.
The Cabinet officers at Washington responded to the enthusiasm which I
poured into this enterprise, and I soon had some members of the National
Committee awake and actively coöperating. At a conference with Mr.
Burleson, I discovered that the Congressional Campaign Committee had
done nothing. He sent for Mr. Doremus of Michigan, whose duty it was to
launch this Congressional campaign. He painted a gloomy picture of the
outlook for the Congressional elections. “We have no money to help the
boys make their fights for reëlection, and we have no one to whom we can
go and get it. Many of them are thoroughly discouraged, and see no use
in trying to do anything for the party, so they are just waiting for the
end and planning to go back into private life.” I asked Mr. Doremus:
“What is the minimum amount necessary to start vigorous work for their
reëlection? I don’t want to know how much you want, but how little you
can possibly get along with.” He named a modest figure, but declared
that even this was impossible to raise. I promptly under-wrote it
personally, and he went to work eagerly; and he afterward reported to me
that this action greatly changed the attitude of the Congressmen when
they realized that help was at hand to make a real fight for the
election. It practically created several hundred active campaign
managers at a stroke.
I then returned to New York, and on my own responsibility, leased
national headquarters at No. 30 East Forty-second Street, signing the
lease in my own name, after I had shown the rooms to Colonel House and
Charles R. Crane, who approved my selection. I bought and rented
furniture, typewriters, and other supplies, and got everything in shape
so that the moment the approaching Convention was over, and the new
Campaign Committee named, they would find the tools for their work ready
to hand, and could go on the job without the delay we had experienced in
1912.
In view of the hopelessness which I had found among the party leaders,
and in view of the very narrow margin by which Mr. Hughes was defeated
the following November, I take pride in the consciousness that my
activities were one of the necessary factors that led to Mr. Wilson’s
reëlection in 1916.
I shall return later in this article to other dramatic incidents of that
campaign, including some of the exciting events of Election Night that
are not generally known.
Meanwhile, in addition to the negative difficulties of apathy and
despair, there were numerous positive troubles that needed immediate
attention. I shall describe one of these problems in which I was called
upon to take a hand personally in straightening it out. It concerned the
appointment of a Postmaster for New York City. Here was a dangerous
political situation. The late John Purroy Mitchel was then Mayor of New
York City, and was making a splendid record. His presence in that
position was of course a standing annoyance to Tammany Hall, which he
had fought all his life. Tammany was already irritated enough at the
Administration, because of President Wilson’s unbending opposition. Some
of the party managers in the Administration at Washington had thought to
placate Tammany by a tardy recognition of the “Wigwam” in the shape of
an appointment of a Postmaster agreeable to Murphy. Postmaster General
Burleson had manipulated this arrangement, and when I arrived in
Washington, I found that the appointment of a Tammany man to be
Postmaster had proceeded so far that the commission was on President
Wilson’s desk for him to sign. The man to be named was Joseph Johnson,
who was an intimate associate of Murphy’s, and who had done some very
aggressive publicity work for Tammany Hall. Murphy had had him appointed
Fire Commissioner of New York under Mayor Gaynor, and Mayor Mitchel had
displaced him when he succeeded Gaynor. In retaliation, Johnson had
taken great pleasure in spreading political propaganda adverse to
Mitchel, so that there was an intense political feud between the two
men. I realized that Johnson’s appointment as Postmaster would deeply
offend the better element of the Democrats in New York, and would cause
such dissension as probably to result in our losing the state and
national election. I knew, too (and this was perhaps of even greater
importance), that Johnson’s appointment would be so repugnant to the New
York _World_ that this brilliant champion of President Wilson and his
policies would be disgusted and would lose the fine enthusiasm that made
its support so effective. I therefore went to the White House, and
called upon President Wilson.
I presented my arguments against Johnson’s selection with all the force
of which I was capable, but found that the President took only a languid
interest in my attempt to re-open a subject which he considered closed.
The nearest approach to rousing him which I achieved, was when I pointed
out to the President that Johnson’s appointment would alienate John
Purroy Mitchel. He thereupon flashed out with, “Mitchel is no help to us
anyway.” I then realized the President’s deep irritation at Mitchel’s
active campaign for military preparedness, which he had pushed so
vigorously that it amounted, on the one hand, to a threat that he would
leave the party if a preparedness programme were not undertaken, and on
the other, to a serious embarrassment of the President’s carefully
considered foreign policy. The President finally tried to dismiss the
subject by saying that I had come too late, that Burleson had arranged
the whole matter, and that the commission was on his desk for signature.
I then asked him as a personal favour not to sign the commission for a
few days, and to this he consented.
I then made a call upon the Postmaster General. Mr. Burleson evidently
misjudged the temper of my resolution. In our association in the
campaign of 1912 he had never seen me thoroughly aroused, and did not
realize that I was so now. He argued the matter in a soothing manner,
and at length made me the astounding proposal, not only that I should
assent to the nomination of Johnson, but that I should write a letter to
the President commending it. I evidently astonished the General with the
vigour of my reply. I informed him emphatically that I would not write
such a letter, and practically challenged him to see which of us would
have the final say regarding the nomination.
I next sought Colonel House to get his advice and coöperation. I got
only the advice--and a glimpse into the true nature of his relationship
with the President. He told me that it was his custom to present freely
to the President his views upon questions of the moment, but that he
believed that it was the President’s duty to decide, and that once the
President had expressed an opinion, it was not proper for him to argue
the matter with him.
I did not accept Colonel House’s advice. I was confident that my
judgment of the Johnson appointment was sound, and I felt no hesitation
in renewing my effort to convince Mr. Wilson. I returned to the White
House, and resumed my argument. I pointed out to the President the
danger of losing the enthusiasm of the New York _World_ and the extreme
importance of carrying New York in the fall election, and the
embarrassment which Johnson would cause us in that effort. “Do you mean
to say,” demanded the President, “that if I appoint Johnson Postmaster,
it will cost us New York in November?”
I understood the President’s psychology well enough not to answer with a
direct affirmative. If I had said “Yes,” the Scotch-Irish in him would
have instantly replied, “Then, I don’t care if we do lose it.” Worse
yet, he would have doubted my own loyalty and fighting spirit. I
replied, therefore, somewhat less directly. Recalling Mr. Wilson’s
enthusiasm for golf, I said: “No, Mr. President, I do not mean that.
What I do mean is that you will put an enormous bunker in our way and it
will require great skill for us to get over it.” This answer pleased
him, and we continued the discussion. “Whom else could I name?” he asked
me. I answered truthfully that I had no candidate; and that I was
concerned only to prevent Johnson’s selection, and had not the slightest
objection to his selecting a good Tammanyite for the position. I added
that two Tammany men occurred to me as being unobjectionable, State
Senator Robert E. Wagner, or Assemblyman Alfred E. Smith.
The President finally agreed not to appoint Johnson, and several days
later, telegraphed me in New York, asking me to offer the position to
Senator Wagner. I did so, and almost persuaded him to accept it, with
his proviso that he should get Murphy’s consent. This he failed to
obtain, so that for the rest of the year the Republican incumbent
continued to hold the office. Tammany would not have been placated
anyway by this one sop thrown to them at the last minute, and, on the
other hand, I had the satisfaction of preventing the defection of
Mitchel and the weakening of the New York _World’s_ support.
President Wilson was re-nominated unanimously at the Convention at St.
Louis in July. The next question was to name the Chairman of the
Campaign Committee so that we could proceed at once to vigorous action.
I was suggested for the position, and I promptly refused to consider it,
pointing out that my antagonism to Tammany would certainly cause the
organization in New York to resent my appointment. The various state
organization leaders were already irritated enough over the lack of
consideration that they had received throughout the Wilson
Administration. Some of them were determined to revolt unless a chairman
should be named from the recognized party workers of the National
Committee. The President has the right to name the man who shall manage
his campaign for reëlection, and his advisers were distinctly worried
over the attitude of the organization leaders. I was asked to suggest
someone to act as Treasurer of the Campaign Committee, and I mentioned
Vance McCormick of Pennsylvania. This probably suggested a solution of
the difficulty, and the President shortly afterward named McCormick
chairman of the Campaign Committee. As McCormick was a regular party
leader, and was besides very popular, there could be no objection to
this choice. It proved indeed a very happy one. All who know McCormick
personally are unanimous in their appreciation of his high character and
of his utterly charming personality. He is a most unusual mixture of
forcefulness and sweetness of spirit. His selection was an ideal one.
The concord which prevailed at Democratic headquarters throughout the
campaign of 1916 was in pleasing contrast to the fretful bickerings of
1912, and this difference was due chiefly to McCormick’s influence.
I devoted myself, as I had in 1912, chiefly to the financial side of the
campaign. This time I had powerful assistance. Thomas L. Chadbourne,
Jr., and Bernard M. Baruch were particularly valuable allies. I had only
to suggest, to one or the other, where I thought they might find some
prosperous and as yet untaxed Democrat, to have him eagerly exclaim,
“I’ll get him,” and neither of them ever failed to make good his boast.
Some gave cheerfully out of their abundance, as did Edward L. Doheny,
whom I personally solicited and who contributed $50,000, which he later
got back, and a quarter of a million more, by taking a sporting chance
on a close election and betting heavily on Wilson’s success. Others gave
equally greatly out of meagre resources. Of these, the most touching was
the gift from the late Franklin K. Lane, who had saved up a thousand
dollars in the preceding six months and gave it out of the fulness of
his patriotism and his personal affection for the President.
Perhaps the most amusing episode of our campaign for party finances was
our experience with Henry Ford. One of our plans called for an extensive
campaign of newspaper advertising, which would require a large sum of
money. Someone suggested that Mr. Ford, in view of his interest in world
peace and in President Wilson’s peace record, might be willing to supply
the funds. After some correspondence, Ford agreed to meet Vance
McCormick in New York, and in August, 1916, they met at luncheon in
McCormick’s rooms at the Biltmore Hotel. The luncheon party consisted of
Ford, McCormick, Thos. A. Edison, and Josephus Daniels. All four men are
well known for their temperance proclivities, and doubtless they lived
up, on this occasion, to their professions and their usual practices. It
must have been either the intoxication of political ideas, or the
effervescence of youthful spirits which prompted them after luncheon to
dispense temporarily with the serious business in hand, and enter into a
lively competition in high kicking in the sitting room of the suite in
friendly but vigorous rivalry to see which could first kick the
chandelier. None of them reached this goal, but Henry Ford, who started
his business life by repairing bicycles, set a new world’s record by
topping the other three several inches in this pedal competition. To
make sure that my memory of this event was correct, I wrote to Vance
McCormick for verification. His reply is worth repeating:
DEAR UNCLE HENRY:
Your recollection of the Ford-Edison luncheon was in general
correct. The luncheon was held in my sitting-room in the Biltmore
and the invitation was arranged through Secretary Daniels who was
present at the luncheon with Mr. Ford and Mr. Edison. As I
remember, John Burroughs was also present. I will have to confirm
that, however, through the newspaper accounts of the luncheon....
During the luncheon, as I remember it, the principal topic of
discussion was the question of the best diet for an active man to
produce the greatest results and extend one’s life to a ripe old
age. Mr. Edison started the discussion by stating that he lived
principally on hot milk and bread. This lead to a general
discussion, but the principal debaters were Mr. Edison and Mr.
Ford, each advocating his own diet. Finally the debate waxed so
warm that a demonstration of athletic ability was proposed and I
think it was Mr. Ford who stated that he could kick higher than Mr.
Edison, whereupon as we left the table a high kicking contest was
indulged in and the marks made upon the wall, and my recollection
is that Mr. Ford was the highest kicker although, I believe, the
contest was a close one.
The lunch party was a most enjoyable affair and carried off more in
the spirit of schoolboys than that of statesmen and geniuses....
With kindest regards, I am
Very sincerely yours,
(Signed) VANCE C. MCCORMICK.
This expansion of movement on Ford’s part, however, suffered a severe
contraction when the subject of finances was resumed. He interposed
objections to every argument that was made for his contribution to the
advertising campaign. He objected to giving money for political
purposes, because he had heard so much about improper expenditures, and
he was afraid that some of his money might go that way. He stood firm in
that position even after it was pointed out to him that advertising
rates were easily determined, and the expenditures could be checked.
Exhausted by their efforts to pin Ford down to a definite proposal,
McCormick and Daniels brought him over to Democratic headquarters,
introduced him to me, and, as McCormick expressed it, left him to my
tender mercies. I re-argued the points they had covered, and found out
Ford’s real position. He would contribute, but he wanted terms that
would advertise himself and his cars. The advertisements, when
published, must be in the form of a statement of Ford’s personal views
on the campaign, and must bear his signature. In addition, as
compensation, we were to guarantee him the privilege of calling upon the
President, so that he might lay before him the plan which he
contemplated of adding the women in his employ to the men who were
already benefitting by the minimum wage of $5 a day. He wanted the
President, he said, to get the credit for advising him to make this
arrangement. No doubt, he was even more anxious to get the publicity
that would come from making the announcement after the visit.
We accepted Ford’s proposition, but he drove a hard bargain, for, after
all, his contribution was a small one, and absurdly disproportionate to
his means and to his professions of interest in the election.
One minor incident of the campaign had a significant bearing on the
subsequent career of Senator Carter Glass of Virginia. President Wilson
asked me to see Mr. Glass and persuade him to accept the position of
secretary of the Democratic National Committee. He gave no reason for
this request, and I had considerable difficulty with Mr. Glass, who
shied away from the suggestion. I assured him that we did not expect him
to perform any routine duties. We wished him to accept the post only so
that we might have him at hand to consult upon questions of campaign
strategy as they arose. He finally consented. From subsequent
developments, it was evident that Mr. Wilson even then had Mr. Glass in
mind for higher honours, and wished to use this means of bringing him
more prominently before the general public, so that he would be more
readily accepted by national opinion when the day came for an
appointment.
We realized that the election at best was going to be a very close one.
We felt reasonably sure that the disaffection of Tammany in New York,
and of the Roger Sullivan organization in Illinois, would cost us those
two states. We had to make up their expected loss in other directions,
and for this reason we concentrated on Ohio and the states of the
Pacific Coast. I was very much astonished when Mr. Elbert H. Baker, the
proprietor of the Cleveland _Plain Dealer_, came into headquarters one
day and assured us that we would carry Ohio by 75,000 votes. I had no
such hopes, and regarded Mr. Baker as a well-meaning enthusiast. Some
days later, however, in conversation with Secretary of War Newton D.
Baker, he assured me that his namesake was not far wrong in his
estimate. Both were subsequently justified by events, as Ohio gave
President Wilson 90,000 more votes than Mr. Hughes.
One of the most useful individual contributions to our ultimate success
in the Pacific Coast states was the vigorous campaign waged in the West
by Mr. Bainbridge Colby on his own initiative. Mr. Colby, it will be
recalled, had been a Republican, but in 1916 he was attracted by the
progressive character of Woodrow Wilson. He therefore aligned himself as
a member of the Democratic Party, and became one of President Wilson’s
most ardent supporters. His services were of the greatest value.
Despite our anxieties, we came to Election Day with hopes so high that
they amounted to complete confidence in the result. So sure was I of the
outcome, that I invited as many of my political friends as remained in
New York (most of the National Committeemen had gone to their homes to
vote) to join me at a dinner at the Biltmore on Election Night, November
6th. We arranged to receive the returns at the table, and planned that
the occasion should be one of progressive jubilation.
When the dinner began, we were a happy party. Mrs. McAdoo’s vivacity was
the keynote of an evening full of jest and laughter, and of confident
anticipation of victory and four years more of Democratic control of
National policies. Everything went merrily until about nine o’clock,
when unfavourable returns began to filter in, and gloom began to settle
on the assembly. Nervousness gave way to consternation when, about ten
o’clock, we received word that the New York _Times_ and the New York
_World_ had flashed their beacon lights to announce that the Republicans
had won. Mr. McAdoo sank deep in his chair, the picture of dejection.
Mrs. McAdoo’s vivacity and appetite fled together. They excused
themselves comparatively early, and departed. Our dinner soon became,
what it was afterward aptly called, a “Belshazzar’s Feast.” The party
broke up, and those of us who had been active in the campaign, headed by
Vance McCormick, hurried back to headquarters on Forty-second Street.
The news from New Hampshire, Minnesota, and California was especially
encouraging. We resolved that, whatever else happened, this should not
be another Tilden-Hayes defeat. We sent for Attorney General Gregory,
and at our request, he telephoned to United States District Attorney
Anderson in Boston, ordering him to send deputies at once into New
Hampshire, to see that no violations of the election laws were
permitted, and especially to guard against the reported intimidation of
election officials preparing their returns.
The newspaper reporters were flitting back and forth between our
headquarters and the Republicans, and we got from them a report that
financial men were gathering in the headquarters of the enemy, and were
raising an enormous fund to affect the returns from the West. We used
the reporters to carry an ultimatum to the Republicans. We reminded them
that we had control of the Federal legal machinery, warned them that we
had already put the United States authorities in all doubtful states on
the watch, and assured them that if the proposed fund were raised, it
could only be for illegal purposes, and that if this effort were not
instantly stopped, the whole crowd would find themselves in jail on the
following morning. If they seriously contemplated such action, this
threat was effective to stop it, and no effort was made by the
Republicans to use funds improperly.
We then concentrated our attention upon California. Within an hour had
secured a through telegraph wire to Democratic headquarters in San
Francisco and arranged that every precaution be taken to secure a fair
count throughout the state.
We kept a close watch also on Minnesota, where, if we had needed it, I
have always been convinced a recount would have given us a majority that
would have made the loss of California a matter of no moment. We all
spent the entire night at headquarters, my son going out at three
o’clock in the morning to bring us in hot rolls and coffee. At six
o’clock in the morning, our collars wilted, our dress shirts soiled, and
looking generally bedraggled, we took taxis to our several residences to
refresh ourselves with bath and breakfast, and to change into business
garments. By eight o’clock everyone was back at headquarters, and we
worked through that entire day and until midnight without sleep. Our
reward was the final assurance of victory.
Woodrow Wilson was again President of the United States. The nation
could count upon an uninterrupted and consistent policy through the
critical winter of 1916-1917, and the world was the gainer by the
exalted leadership and sustained nobility of policy which marked our
reluctant, but high-minded, entrance into the World War, and its
progress to a victorious conclusion.