IV

The debauchery of young men by the bosses is a familiar phase of our

politics and is most potent in the game of checking the advance of the

fit and assuring domination by the unfit. Several thousand young men

leave college every year with some hope of entering upon a political

career. By the time a young man is graduated he has elected to follow

the banner of some party. If he lives in a city and shows a disposition

to be of practical service, he is warmly welcomed into the fold of

one of the organizations. He quickly becomes aware that only by the

display of a servile obedience can he expect to become _persona grata_

to the party powers. By the time he has passed through one campaign as

a trusted member of a machine, his political illusions are well-nigh

destroyed. His childish belief that only the fit should be elevated

to positions of responsibility, that public office is a public trust,

is pretty well dissipated. “Good” men, he finds, are good only by the

tests of partisanship as applied by the bosses. To strike at a boss is

_lésé majesté_, and invites drastic punishment.

The purpose of the young men’s political clubs everywhere is to infuse

the young voter with the spirit of blind obedience and subjection. He

is graciously permitted to serve on club committees as a step toward

more important recognition as ward committeeman, or he is given a

place of some sort at headquarters during the campaign. There are

dozens of ways in which the willing young man may be of use. His

illusions rapidly vanish. He is flattered by the attentions of the

bosses, who pat him on the back and assure him that they appreciate his

loyal devotion to the party. With the hope of preferment before him it

is essential that he establish as quickly as possible a reputation for

“regularity.” If his wise elders note any restiveness, any tendency

toward independence, they at once warn him that he must “play the

game straight,” and shut his eyes to the sins of his party. Or if his

counsellors sympathize with his predicament they advise him that the

only way he can gain a position from which to make his ideas effective

is by winning the favor of the bosses and building up a personal

following.

In a campaign preliminary to a local primary in my city I appealed

to a number of young men of good antecedents and rather exceptional

education, to oppose a particular candidate. One of them, on coming

home from an Eastern university, had introduced himself to me in the

name of a great educator who was one of my particular admirations.

In every one of these cases I was politely rebuffed. They said the

gentleman whose ambitions annoyed me was a “good fellow” and “all

right”; they couldn’t see that any good would come of antagonizing him.

And they were right. No good did come of it so far as the result was

concerned.

There are countless ways in which a young lawyer finds his connection

with a machine helpful. A word in the right quarter brings him a

client--a saloonkeeper, perhaps, who is meeting with resistance in his

effort to secure a renewal of his license; or petty criminal cases

before magistrates--easily arranged where the machine controls the

police. He cannot fail to be impressed with the perfection of a system

that so smoothly wields power by indirection. The mystery of it all and

the potency of the names of the high powers appeal to his imagination;

there is something of romance in it. A deputyship in the office of the

prosecuting attorney leads on to a seat in the legislature, and he may

go to Congress if he is “good.” He is purchased with a price, bought,

and paid for; his status is fixed; he is a second-rate man. And by

every such young man in America the ideal of democracy, the hope of

republican government, is just so much weakened.

V

Government by the unfit, domination by the inferior, is greatly

assisted by a widely accepted superstition that a second-rate man,

finding himself in a position of responsibility, is likely to display

undreamed of powers. The idea seems to be that the electorate, by a

kind of laying on of hands, confers fitness where none has previously

existed. Unfortunately such miracles are not frequent enough to form

the basis of a political philosophy. Recourse to the recall as a means

of getting rid of an undesirable office-holder strikes me as only

likely to increase the indifference, the languor, with which we now

perform our political duties.

Contempt for the educated man, a preposterous assumption that by

the very fact of his training he is unfitted for office, continues

prevalent in many minds. Conscious of this disqualification,

President Wilson finds amusement at times in referring to himself as

a schoolmaster; much criticism of his administration is based upon

the melancholy fact that he is a “professor,” a scholar, as though a

lifelong student of history and politics were disqualified, by the very

fact of his preparation, for exalted office.

The direct primary, as a means of assisting first-rate men to office,

has not yet realized what was hoped for it, and there is growing

scepticism as to its efficacy. It is one of our marked national

failings that we expect laws and systems to work automatically. If

the first-rate man cherishes the delusion that he need only offer

himself to his fellow partisans and they will delightedly spring to

his support, he is doomed to a sad awakening. Unless he has taken the

precaution to ask the organization’s permission to put his name on

the ballot and is promised support, he must perfect an organization

of his own with which to make his fight in the primary. He must open

headquarters from which to carry on his operations, make speeches

before as many citizens as can be assembled to hear him, enlist and

pay helpers, most of whom expect jobs in case he is successful. He

must drop money into palms of whose existence he never dreamed, the

recipients of his bounty being frequently “scouts” from his opponents’

camps. The blackmailing of candidates by charitable organizations--and

churches are not without shame in this particular--is only one of the

thousand annoyances. He is not likely to enjoy immunity from newspaper

attack. Months of time and much money are required for a primary

campaign. I venture the assertion that many hundreds of candidates

for office in this year of grace began their campaigns for election

already encumbered by debts incurred in winning their nominations,

which brought them only half-way to the goal. Such a burden, with all

its connotations of curtailed liberty and shackling obligations, may

not be viewed with equanimity. Instead of making office-holding more

attractive to the first-rate man, the direct primary multiplies his

discouragements.

The second-rate man, being willing to accept office as a party,

not a public, trust, and to use it in every way possible for the

strengthening of party lines, has the first-rate man, who has only his

merits to justify his ambitions, at a serious disadvantage. When an

organization (the term by which a machine prefers to be called) finds

that it is likely to meet with defeat through public resentment of

its excesses, it will sometimes turn to a first-rate man. But this is

only in cases of sheer desperation. There is nothing more amusing than

the virtuous air with which a machine will nominate a first-rate man

where there is no possible danger of party success. He it is whom the

bosses are willing to sacrifice. The trick is turned ingeniously to the

bosses’ advantage, for defeat in such instances proves to the truly

loyal that only the “regulars” can get anywhere.

A young friend of mine once persuaded me to join him in “bucking”

a primary for the election of delegates to a State convention. I

cheerfully lent my assistance in this laudable enterprise, the more

readily when he confided to me his intention of employing machine

methods. A young man of intelligence and humor, he had, by means which

I deplored but to which I contributed, lured from the organization

one of its star performers. I speak of this without shame, that the

cynical may not complain that I am in politics a high brow or dreamy

lotus eater. Our ally knew the game; he knew how to collect and deliver

votes by the most approved machine methods. We watched him work with

the keenest satisfaction. He brought citizens in great numbers to vote

our “slate,” many of them men who had never been in the ward before. We

gloated with satisfaction as the day declined and our votes continued

to pile up. Our moral natures were in the balance; if we beat the

machine with machine methods we meant never, never to be good again! It

seemed indeed that our investment in the skilled worker could not fail

of success. When the votes were counted, oh, what a fall was there, my

countrymen! “Our man” had merely used our automobiles, and I refrain

from saying what other munitions of war, to get out the vote of the

opposition! We had in other words, accomplished our own defeat!