JOHN PURROY MITCHEL
Shortly after my return from Europe, John Purroy Mitchel came to my
house to seek advice on a matter concerning both the destinies of his
city and, as the event proved, the end of his own career. He asked me
whether he ought to run again for Mayor, or accept a tempting business
offer that had just been made him.
Mitchel was always an attractive and frequently an inspiring figure in
municipal affairs. A typical American, of fighting stock, the grandson
of a man that had battled for free Ireland and the nephew of a
politician that had made his mark, Purroy Mitchel, whose face and
carriage reflected the latent power of leadership, was one of those
young souls at once sensitive and fiery to whom Tammany’s abuse of
opportunity becomes a personal affront. More than once our paths had
curiously approached each other.
Back in 1908, E. H. Outerbridge had come to my house and, as chairman of
the Citizens’ Committee in the current campaign, urged me to accept the
fusion nomination for President of the Borough of Manhattan. My answer
was:
“President of the Board of Aldermen--yes, but no administrative office.”
“I’m sorry,” said Outerbridge, “but the man for that place has already
been determined upon. He is John Purroy Mitchel.”
Had that answer been different, the entire course of my life would have
been changed, for the whole Fusion ticket was elected, with the
exception of the man at the head of it, Otto Bannard, who was defeated
by Judge Gaynor. Mitchel became President of the Board of Aldermen.
Then again, while in that office, his life touched mine.
In 1912, he sought me in much such a quandary as that in which he was to
find himself in 1917. He had been offered, and wanted to know whether he
should accept, the presidency of a struggling mortgage-guarantee company
in Queens County. He was evidently influenced to come to me because I
had been prominently identified with the Lawyers’ Mortgage Co. of New
York.
This was then my advice:
“It would be a good thing for you to get out of politics for a while and
give the next few years to accumulating a competency. After that, you
can reënter politics, inspired by business experience and free from
money cares, but this mortgage guarantee company is not what you should
go into. Your talents and special training as Commissioner of Accounts
could be much better utilized in some established industrial enterprise.
I think I can arrange to have you made the vice-president of the
Underwood Typewriter Company.” I promptly took up the matter and
arranged an interview between Mitchel and Mr. John T. Underwood, with
the result that the former was offered the vice-presidency I have
referred to, with the sole proviso that he must pledge himself to hold
the position, and refrain from politics for at least five years. Mitchel
hesitated and the old maxim came true: “He who hesitates is lost.” His
political acumen informed him that the succeeding autumn would offer him
the best if not the only chance to become Mayor of his native city.
Devotion to good government and a burning desire to displace Tammany
were his ruling passions: he disregarded material considerations,
declined the Underwood offer, and remained in politics.
But our fates were not yet divorced. In the spring of 1913 ex-President
Roosevelt held a meeting of some leading Progressives at his office to
agree on a fusion slate for the next New York Municipal election. It was
planned to put forward a candidate who would attract all shades of
voters but who was opposed to Tammany Hall. Charles S. Aronstam, who
attended the caucuses representing the Progressives of Brooklyn, writes
me this account of that gathering:
I have been trying to refresh my recollection as to what transpired
at the conference at Colonel Roosevelt’s office in June, 1913, when
your name was suggested as a probable candidate for President of
the Board of Aldermen on the Fusion ticket with Charles H. Whitman
for Mayor and William A. Prendergast for Comptroller. There were
present besides the Colonel, the late Lieutenant-Governor Woodruff,
Mr. Edward W. Allen, of Brooklyn, and myself.
You will recall that at that time Mr. Whitman was on the crest of
the wave and he was the unanimous choice for Mayor of the
Republican members of the Fusion Committee. The only other
candidate that was under serious discussion was Mr. George A.
McAneny. Mr. Mitchel having been appointed Collector of the Port
was apparently out of the running. His name was discussed but his
candidacy had not yet reached such a stage of development as to
make him a probable choice. Colonel Roosevelt’s choice between the
two was Mr. Whitman, not because of his superior qualifications
over Mr. McAneny, but because of his greater availability on
account of the tactical position he occupied at that time in the
public eye and because he had the unanimous backing of the
Republican Party: The important consideration being the defeat of
Tammany Hall. It was then suggested that with Mr. Whitman, a
Republican as a candidate for Mayor, and Mr. Prendergast a
Progressive as a candidate for Comptroller, in order to invite the
support of independent Democrats, it would be necessary to select
for the second place an independent Democrat, preferably one
closely associated with the Wilson administration.
I do not recall which one of us first suggested your name as a
most desirable choice for that place if you could be persuaded to
run. I do recall, however, that when your name was suggested,
Colonel Roosevelt banging his fist on the desk in his
characteristic manner exclaimed, “Just the man! Do you think he
would consent to run?”
However, I sailed for Europe before they could get in touch with me. But
Aronstam was himself to take ship within a day or two and Colonel
Roosevelt commissioned him to see me abroad and secure my assent.
My recollection is that Mr. Aronstam first called on me in Paris and
that there was then made a tentative decision, later confirmed by a
letter from Aix-les-Bains. At all events, his mission was like that of
Mr. Outerbridge years before, and what Aronstam had to offer me was what
I had on that other occasion told Outerbridge I would accept.
My natural question was:
“Who is slated for Mayor?”
“Charles S. Whitman.”
“What about Purroy Mitchel?”
Well, Mitchel was Collector of the Port, and not considered available,
whereas Whitman, as District Attorney, had the centre of the stage, and
would appeal to the popular imagination. The only other candidate that
had been considered was Mr. George McAneny, and the Progressives did not
think that he would be a good vote-getter.
As Aronstam was submitting his message from the Colonel, my mind went
back several years to a statement once made to me by Herr Barth, a
well-known member of the German Reichstag. He said that men of the
Roosevelt type would never be content to remain out of office, and to
rest in the rôle of merely philosophic guides for the people: having
once exercised power, they must continue to possess it.
I felt that Roosevelt, for his own good and the good of the people,
should reënter the public service. Here, it seemed to me, was a chance
to serve many purposes. Roosevelt’s first demonstration of his power had
been in municipal politics, when, as Police Commissioner of New York, he
fearlessly enforced the liquor law. I recalled, too, the incident of his
unexpectedly accepting an invitation to review, at that time, a parade
of German societies, and how, arrived at the reviewing stand, he heard
somebody unacquainted with his presence express in German the wonder
whether “Rosenfelt” would have the nerve to put in an appearance at a
time when he stood for a strict enforcement of liquor regulations, to
which most of them were opposed. Roosevelt’s peculiarly penetrating
voice supplied the answer:
“_Hier ist der Rosenfelt._”
That was the sort of man New York needed in the present juncture. The
chance ought, moreover, to appeal to him, because it seemed to me that
his election would be inevitable, and that, as a consequence of it, he
would very likely re-occupy the White House in 1916.
For my part, I had just refused the appointment of Ambassador to Turkey,
which I then considered relatively unimportant. I believed that I could
be useful as a member of a possible Roosevelt municipal administration
and so I said to Aronstam:
“I’ll take the nomination if the Colonel himself will run for Mayor.”
Mr. Aronstam, such is my recollection, cabled home my decision. He
received word that Whitman’s name was to stand and communicated this to
me at Aix-les-Bains. From there I wrote to him:
MY DEAR MR. ARONSTAM:
After very mature deliberation, I have concluded that I would not,
if asked, run with Whitman. There is no use giving you my reasons
in detail. Kindly take this as final and so inform Timothy
Woodruff. I don’t want to keep him and his associates under any
mistaken impression that your telegram may have created.
I would run with T. R. He would win and make a great Mayor.
With kindest regards,
Yours sincerely,
HENRY MORGENTHAU.
What finally happened is still fresh in the public mind. Chosen
President of the Board of Aldermen, Mitchel’s admirers had groomed him
vigorously for the Mayoralty. President Wilson’s appointment of Mitchel
as the Collector of the Port really stamped him as an independent Wilson
Democrat and placed him in the lime-light. Elected Mayor, he surrounded
himself with men of his own years and temperament. He gave the City one
of its best administrations.
So the circle completed itself. We now come back to September, 1917.
Here again was this young Robert Emmett at my house and the first thing
he said was a sort of echo of what he had said five years before:
“Morgenthau, do you think I ought to run again for Mayor?”
Memory paints him to-day as he stood there then, a hero to a vast number
of New Yorkers, often erratic, frequently ill-advised, but still a
justified hero. His dark brown hair was disordered, his Irish grey-blue
eyes were bright, but he looked more matured and considerably more
care-worn from his many fights and the scars they had left, than the man
who had sought my advice in 1912.
It was an affecting situation. During four years he had done his best
for the City, and that best had disappointed the professional office
holders through his fixed determination to protect the tax-payers he had
alienated the vast army of municipal employees; finally some of his
investigations had antagonized the adherents of certain of the Catholic
charities; and he undoubtedly felt that the chances for his reëlection
had been considerably diminished. Ought he to endeavour to complete the
task that he had set himself or was it useless to make further efforts?
My advice was the reverse of what it had been the last time:
“You have given the public the impression that you would run again. You
must not drop out at the last moment; you must not retreat under fire;
you will have to be the standard-bearer of good government in this
election even if you are conscious of an impending defeat.”
For any writer of fiction, this episode would complete the chain of
coincidences, yet truth forged another link. There was formed a
citizens’ committee to conduct a mass meeting in City Hall Park at which
speakers representing the un-bossed element of all parties should urge
Mitchel to run again for Mayor. Charles Evans Hughes was one of these
speakers; so was Theodore Roosevelt. The others were my old friend
Outerbridge and myself. Thus it befell that here was Mitchel in office
and urged to remain by the men who had previously played at such cross
purposes in connection with his career.
That was an almost unique political event. The young Democratic Mayor,
still flushed from his fight for Preparedness, was flanked by two
outstanding Republicans, a recent Presidential candidate, and a popular
ex-President; shoulder to shoulder with these stood the head of the New
York State Chamber of Commerce, and myself as a representative of the
Wilson Democrats. One and all, we called upon him to stand again for
Mayor.
The lighter touch was not lacking. As, following Mr. Outerbridge and Mr.
Hughes, my turn to speak arrived, I turned toward Colonel Roosevelt and,
recalling his famous exclamation about throwing his hat into the ring,
said:
“I’ll now throw my hat upon the steps.”
“No, no,” said the Colonel: “let me hold it!”
He took and guarded it throughout my address. When he was about to
speak, it was my part to return the favour.
“No, thanks,” said Roosevelt. “I shall need my hat.”
Why? It was illuminating to observe.
The audience naturally shaped itself into three separate crowds: those
directly in front of the speakers, and those on either side. When the
Colonel’s effective oratory evoked applause from the people directly in
front of him, he would turn first toward the right and then toward the
left, shaking his historic soft hat as he did so, and he thus always
hauled the two other crowds into the circle of Mitchel enthusiasm.
Purroy Mitchel was, however, fighting his last fight as a St. George
against the Tammany dragon: Bennett insisted on running as a straight
Republican and, as such, drew thousands of the dyed-in-the-wool
Republican votes; the Socialist Morris Hillquit secured the ballots of
the Pacifists and pro-Germans in addition to his own party’s. On the eve
of election, a party of us concluded our efforts by joining Mitchel in a
trip to Camp Upton and addresses to the soldiers there. Coming home, he,
Dr. Arthur B. Duel--who had gone along to keep the candidate’s
over-taxed vocal-cords in order--Commissioner George W. Bell, and I had
a midnight supper at Patchogue.
There Mitchel eased his overburdened heart. In a subdued voice that
increased the effect of his simplicity and earnestness, this upstanding
young man gave a voluntary account of his stewardship. He told us of
some of his struggles in office that it would be a betrayal of
confidence to repeat, many of his experiences at the Plattsburgh
Training Camp, and much of his anxiety to do personally his share in
this great World War. As he spoke of his present campaign, he showed
that he anticipated defeat, and was philosophically adjusting himself to
the conditions he expected to confront on January 2, 1918. Some phrase
of his moved me to remind him of our offer of the vice-presidency of the
Underwood Typewriter Company: he frankly confessed that he would have
been better off had he accepted it, devoted part of his youth to
business, and left his riper middle age for public service; but my
present belief is that this mood was the fruit of momentary
disappointment, for, shortly after, there came a return of his more
characteristic fighting spirit, and he was telling us that he would not
accept a flattering offer just received from an important
corporation--he was again going to act as he had acted five years before
and would give his services to his country so soon as his term in the
Mayoralty had ended.
That course he consistently pursued. His death in a falling airplane at
a Texas camp, while qualifying as an army aviator, was mourned by the
entire nation.