About Political Conventions, State and National—“Old Ben Butler”—His
Appearance as a Trouble-Maker in the Democratic National Convention of
1892—Tarifa and the Tariff—Spain as a Frightful Example
I
I have had a liberal education in party convocations, State and
national. In those of 1860 I served as an all-around newspaper
reporter. A member of each National Democratic Convention from 1876 to
1892, presiding over the first, and in those of 1880 and 1888 chosen
chairman of the Resolutions Committee, I wrote many of the platforms
and had a decisive voice in all of them.
In 1880 I had stood for the renomination of “the Old Ticket,” that is,
Tilden and Hendricks, making the eight-to-seven action of the Electoral
Tribunal of 1877 in favor of Hayes and Wheeler the paramount issue. It
seems strange now that any one should have contested this. Yet it was
stoutly contested. Mr. Tilden settled all dispute by sending a letter
to the convention declining to be a candidate. In answer to this I
prepared a resolution of regret to be incorporated in the platform. It
raised stubborn opposition. David A. Wells and Joseph Pulitzer, who
were fellow members of the committee, were with me in my contention,
but the objection to making it a part of the platform grew so
pronounced that they thought I had best not insist upon it.
The day wore on and the latent opposition seemed to increase. I had
been named chairman of the committee and had at a single sitting that
morning written a completed platform. Each plank of this was severally
and closely scrutinized. It was well into the afternoon before we
reached the plank I chiefly cared about. When I read this the storm
broke. Half the committee rose against it. At the close, with more heat
than was either courteous or tactful, I said: “Gentlemen, I wish to do
no more than bid farewell to a leader who four years ago took the
Democratic party at its lowest fortunes and made it a power again. He
is well on his way to the grave. I would place a wreath of flowers on
that grave. I ask only this of you. Refuse me, and by God, I will go to
that mob yonder and, dead or alive, nominate him, and you will be
powerless to prevent!”
Mr. Barksdale, of Mississippi, a suave gentleman, who had led the
dissenters, said, “We do not refuse you. But you say that we ‘regret’
Mr. Tilden’s withdrawal. Now I do not regret it, nor do those who agree
with me. Could you not substitute some other expression?”
“I don’t stand on words,” I answered. “What would you suggest?”
Mr. Barksdale said: “Would not the words ‘We have received with the
deepest sensibility Mr. Tilden’s letter of withdrawal,’ answer your
purpose?”
“Certainly,” said I, and the plank in the platform, as it was amended,
was adopted unanimously.
Mr. Tilden did not die. He outlived all his immediate rivals. Four
years later, in 1884, his party stood ready again to put him at its
head. In nominating Mr. Cleveland it thought it was accepting his
dictation reënforced by the enormous majority—nearly 200,000—by which
Mr. Cleveland, as candidate for Governor, had carried New York in the
preceding State election. Yet, when the votes in the presidential
election came to be counted, he carried it, if indeed he carried it at
all, by less than 1,100 majority, the result hanging in the balance for
nearly a week.