Before the Revolutionary War numerous societies were organized to aid
the cause of Independence. These were sometimes called "Sons of Liberty"
and not infrequently "Sons of St. Tammany," after an Indian brave whom
tradition had shrouded in virtue. The name was probably adopted to
burlesque the royalist societies named after St. George, St. David, or
St. Andrew. After the war these societies vanished. But, in New York
City, William Mooney, an upholsterer, reorganized the local society
as "Tammany Society or Columbian Order," devoted ostensibly to
goodfellowship and charity. Its officers bore Indian titles and its
ceremonies were more or less borrowed from the red man, not merely
because of their unique and picturesque character, but to emphasize the
truly American and anti-British convictions of its members. The society
attracted that element of the town's population which delighted in the
crude ceremonials and the stimulating potions that always accompanied
them, mostly small shopkeepers and mechanics. It was among this class
that the spirit of discontent against the power of Federalism was
strongest--a spirit that has often become decisive in our political
fortunes.
This was still the day of the "gentleman," of small clothes, silver
shoe-buckles, powdered wigs, and lace ruffles. Only taxpayers and
propertied persons could vote, and public office was still invested with
certain prerogatives and privileges. Democracy was little more than
a name. There was, however, a distinct division of sentiment, and the
drift towards democracy was accelerated by immigration. The newcomers
were largely of the humble classes, among whom the doctrines of
democratic discontent were welcome.
Tammany soon became partizan. The Federalist members withdrew, probably
influenced by Washington's warning against secret political societies.
By 1798 it was a Republican club meeting in various taverns, finally
selecting Martling's "Long Room" for its nightly carousals. Soon after
this a new constitution was adopted which adroitly transformed the
society into a compact political machine, every member subscribing to
the oath that he would resist the encroachments of centralized power
over the State.
Tradition has it that the transformer of Tammany into the first compact
and effective political machine was Aaron Burr. There is no direct
evidence that he wrote the new constitution. But there is collateral
evidence. Indeed, it would not have been Burrian had he left any written
evidence of his connection with the organization. For Burr was one of
those intriguers who revel in mystery, who always hide their designs,
and never bind themselves in writing without leaving a dozen loopholes
for escape. He was by this time a prominent figure in American
politics. His skill had been displayed in Albany, both in the passing of
legislation and in out-maneuvering Hamilton and having himself
elected United States Senator against the powerful combination of the
Livingstons and the Schuylers. He was plotting for the Presidency as the
campaign of 1800 approached, and Tammany was to be the fulcrum to lift
him to this conspicuous place.
Under the ostensible leadership of Matthew L. Davis, Burr's chief
lieutenant, every ward of the city was carefully organized, a polling
list was made, scores of new members were pledged to Tammany, and during
the three days of voting (in New York State until 1840 elections
lasted three days), while Hamilton was making eloquent speeches for the
Federalists, Burr was secretly manipulating the wires of his machine.
Burr and Tammany won in New York City, though Burr failed to win the
Presidency. The political career of this remarkable organization, which
has survived over one hundred and twenty years of stormy history, was
now well launched.
From that time to the present the history of Tammany Hall is a tale
of victories, followed by occasional disclosures of corruption and
favoritism; of quarrels with governors and presidents; of party fights
between "up-state" and "city"; of skulking when its sachems were
unwelcome in the White House; of periodical displays of patriotism for
cloaking its grosser crimes; of perennial charities for fastening itself
more firmly on the poorer populace which has always been the source of
its power; of colossal municipal enterprise for profit-sharing; and of
a continuous political efficiency due to sagacious leadership, a
remarkable adaptability to the necessities of the hour, and a patience
that outlasts every "reform."
It early displayed all the traits that have made it successful. In 1801,
for the purpose of carrying city elections, it provided thirty-nine men
with money to purchase houses and lots in one ward, and seventy men
with money for the same purpose in another ward, thus manufacturing
freeholders for polling purposes. In 1806 Benjamin Romaine, a grand
sachem, was removed from the office of city controller by his own party
for acquiring land from the city without paying for it. In 1807 several
superintendents of city institutions were dismissed for frauds. The
inspector of bread, a sachem, resigned because his threat to extort
one-third of the fees from his subordinates had become public. Several
assessment collectors, all prominent in Tammany, were compelled to
reimburse the city for deficits in their accounts. One of the leading
aldermen used his influence to induce the city to sell land to his
brother-in-law at a low price, and then bade the city buy it back
for many times its value. Mooney, the founder of the society, now
superintendent of the almshouse, was caught in a characteristic fraud.
His salary was $1000 a year, with $500 for family expenses. But it was
discovered that his "expenses" amounted to $4000 a year, and that he had
credited to himself on the books $1000 worth of supplies and numerous
sums for "trifles for Mrs. Mooney."
In September, 1826, the Grand Jury entered an indictment against Matthew
L. Davis and a number of other Tammany men for defrauding several banks
and insurance companies of over $2,000,000. This created a tremendous
sensation. Political influence was at once set in motion, and only the
minor defendants were sent to the penitentiary.
In 1829 Samuel Swartwout, one of the Tammany leaders, was appointed
Collector of the Port of New York. His downfall came in 1838, and he
fled to Europe. His defalcations in the Custom House were found to be
over $1,222,700; and "to Swartwout" became a useful phrase until Tweed's
day. He was succeeded by Jesse Hoyt, another sachem and notorious
politician, against whom several judgments for default were recorded
in the Superior Court, which were satisfied very soon after his
appointment. At this time another Tammany chieftain, W. M. Price, United
States District Attorney for Southern New York, defaulted for $75,000.
It was in 1851 that the council commonly known as "The Forty Thieves"
was elected. In it William M. Tweed served his apprenticeship. Some of
the maneuvers of this council and of other officials were divulged by
a Grand Jury in its presentment of February 23, 1853. The presentment
states: "It was clearly shown that enormous sums of money were spent
for the procurement of railroad grants in the city, and that towards the
decision and procurement of the Eighth Avenue railway grant, a sum
so large that would startle the most credulous was expended; but in
consequence of the voluntary absence of important witnesses, the Grand
Jury was left without direct testimony of the particular recipients of
the different amounts."
These and other exposures brought on a number of amendments to the city
charter, surrounding with greater safeguards the sale or lease of city
property and the letting of contracts; and a reform council was elected.
Immediately upon the heels of this reform movement followed the shameful
regime of Fernando Wood, an able, crafty, unscrupulous politician, who
began by announcing himself a reformer, but who soon became a boss in
the most offensive sense of that term--not, however, in Tammany Hall,
for he was ousted from that organization after his reelection as mayor
in 1856. He immediately organized a machine of his own, Mozart Hall. The
intense struggle between the two machines cost the city a great sum, for
the taxpayers were mulcted to pay the bills.
Through the anxious days of the Civil War, when the minds of thoughtful
citizens were occupied with national issues, the tide of reform ebbed
and flowed. A reform candidate was elected mayor in 1863, but Tammany
returned to power two years later by securing the election and then the
reelection of John T. Hoffman. Hoffman possessed considerable ability
and an attractive personality. His zeal for high office, however, made
him easily amenable to the manipulators. Tammany made him Governor and
planned to name him for President. Behind his popularity, which was
considerable, and screened by the greater excitements of the war,
reconstruction, and the impeachment of Andrew Johnson, lurked the Ring,
whose exposures and confessions were soon to amaze everyone.
The chief ringster was William M. Tweed, and his name will always
be associated in the public mind with political bossdom. This is his
immortality. He was a chairmaker by trade, a vulgar good fellow by
nature, a politician by circumstances, a boss by evolution, and a
grafter by choice. He became grand sachem of Tammany and chairman of the
general committee. This committee he ruled with blunt directness. When
he wanted a question carried, he failed to ask for the negative votes;
and soon he was called "the Boss," a title he never resented, and which
usage has since fixed in our politics. So he ruled Tammany with a high
hand; made nominations arbitrarily; bullied, bought, and traded; became
President of the Board of Supervisors, thus holding the key to the
city's financial policies; and was elected State Senator, thereby
directing the granting of legislative favors to his city and to his
corporations.
In 1868 Tammany carried Hoffman into the Governor's chair, and in the
following year the Democrats carried the State legislature. Tweed now
had a new charter passed which virtually put New York City into his
pocket by placing the finances of the metropolis entirely in the hands
of a Board of Apportionment which he dominated. Of this Board, the
mayor of the city was the chairman, with the power to appoint the other
members. He promptly named Tweed, Connolly, and P. B. Sweeny. This was
the famous Ring. The mayor was A. Oakey Hall, dubbed "Elegant Oakey" by
his pals because of his fondness for clubs, society, puns, and poems;
but Nast called him "O. K. Haul." Sweeny, commonly known as "Pete," was
a lawyer of ability, and was generally believed to be the plotter of the
quartet. Nast transformed his middle initial B. into "Brains." Connolly
was just a coarse gangster.
There was some reason for the Ring's faith in its invulnerability. It
controlled Governor and legislature, was formidable in the national
councils of the Democratic party, and its Governor was widely mentioned
for the presidential nomination. It possessed complete power over the
city council, the mayor, and many of the judges. It was in partnership
with Gould and Fiske of the Erie, then reaping great harvests in Wall
Street, and with street railway and other public service corporations.
Through untold largess it silenced rivalry from within and criticism
from without. And, when suspicion first raised its voice, it adroitly
invited a committee of prominent and wealthy citizens, headed by John
Jacob Astor, to examine the controller's accounts. After six hours
spent in the City Hall these respectable gentlemen signed an acquitment,
saying that "the affairs of the city under the charge of the controller
are administered in a correct and faithful manner."
Thus intrenched, the Ring levied tribute on every municipal activity.
Everyone who had a charge against the city, either for work done or
materials furnished, was told to add to the amount of his bill, at first
10%, later 66%, and finally 85%. One man testified that he was told
to raise to $55,000 his claim of $5000. He got his $5000; the Ring got
$50,000. The building of the Court House, still known as "Tweed's Court
House," was estimated to cost $3,000,000, but it cost many times that
sum. The item "repairing fixtures" amounted to $1,149,874.50, before the
building was completed. Forty chairs and three tables cost $179,729.60;
thermometers cost $7500. G. S. Miller, a carpenter, received
$360,747.61, and a plasterer named Gray, $2,870,464.06 for nine months'
"work." The Times dubbed him the "Prince of Plasterers." "A plasterer
who can earn $138,187 in two days [December 20 and 21] and that in the
depths of winter, need not be poor." Carpets cost $350,000, most of the
Brussels and Axminster going to the New Metropolitan Hotel just opened
by Tweed's son.
The Ring's hold upon the legislature was through bribery, not through
partizan adhesion. Tweed himself confessed that he gave one man in
Albany $600,000 for buying votes to pass his charter; and Samuel J.
Tilden estimated the total cost for this purpose at over one million
dollars. Tweed said he bought five Republican senators for $40,000
apiece. The vote on the charter was 30 to 2 in the Senate, 116 to 5 in
the Assembly. Similar sums were spent in Albany in securing corporate
favors. The Viaduct Railway Bill is an example. This bill empowered a
company, practically owned by the Ring, to build a railway on or above
any street in the city. It provided that the city should subscribe for
$5,000,000 of the stock; and it exempted the company from taxation.
Collateral bills were introduced enabling the company to widen and grade
any streets, the favorite "job" of a Tammany grafter. Fortunately for
the city, exposure came before this monstrous scheme could be put in
motion.
Newspapers in the city were heavily subsidized. Newspapers in Albany
were paid munificently for printing. One of the Albany papers received
$207,900 for one year's work which was worth less than $10,000. Half a
dozen reporters of the leading dailies were put on the city payroll at
from $2000 to $2500 a year for "services."
The Himalayan size of these swindles and their monumental effrontery led
the New York Sun humorously to suggest the erection of a statue to
the principal Robber Baron, "in commemoration of his services to the
commonwealth." A letter was sent out asking for funds. There were a
great many men in New York, the Sun thought, who would not be unwilling
to refuse a contribution. But Tweed declined the honor. In its issue of
March 14, 1871, the Sun has this headline:
"A GREAT MAN'S MODESTY"
"THE HON. WILLIAM M. TWEED DECLINES THE SUN'S STATUE. CHARACTERISTIC
LETTER FROM THE GREAT NEW YORK PHILANTHROPIST. HE THINKS THAT VIRTUE
SHOULD BE ITS OWN REWARD. THE MOST REMARKABLE LETTER EVER WRITTEN BY THE
NOBLE BENEFACTOR OF THE PEOPLE."
Another kind of memorial to his genius for absorbing the people's money
was awaiting this philanthropic buccaneer. Vulgar ostentation was the
outward badge of these civic burglaries. Tweed moved into a Fifth Avenue
mansion and gave his daughter a wedding at which she received $100,000
worth of gifts; her wedding dress was a $5000 creation. At Greenwich he
built a country estate where the stables were framed of choice mahogany.
Sweeny hobnobbed with Jim Fiske of the Erie, the Tweed of Wall Street,
who went about town dressed in loud checks and lived with his harem in
his Opera House on Eighth Avenue.
Thoughtful citizens saw these things going on and believed the city
was being robbed, but they could not prove it. There were two attacking
parties, however, who did not wait for proofs--Thomas Nast, the
brilliant cartoonist of Harper's Weekly, and the New York Times. The
incisive cartoons of Nast appealed to the imaginations of all classes;
even Tweed complained that his illiterate following could "look at the
damn pictures." The trenchant editorials of Louis L. Jennings in
the Times reached a thoughtful circle of readers. In one of these
editorials, February 24, 1871, before the exposure, he said: "There is
absolutely nothing--nothing in the city--which is beyond the reach of
the insatiable gang who have obtained possession of it. They can get a
grand jury dismissed at any time, and, as we have seen, the legislature
is completely at their disposal."
Finally proof did come and, as is usual in such cases, it came from
the inside. James O'Brien, an ex-sheriff and the leader in a Democratic
"reform movement" calling itself "Young Democracy," secured the
appointment of one of his friends as clerk in the controller's office.
Transcripts of the accounts were made, and these O'Brien brought to
the Times, which began their publication, July 8, 1871. The Ring was
in consternation. It offered George Jones, the proprietor of the Times,
$5,000,000 for his silence and sent a well-known banker to Nast with an
invitation to go to Europe "to study art," with $100,000 for "expenses."
"Do you think I could get $200,000?" innocently asked Nast.
"I believe from what I have heard in the bank that you might get it."
After some reflection, the cartoonist asked: "Don't you think I could
get $500,000 to make that trip?"
"You can; you can get $500,000 in gold to drop this Ring business and
get out of the country."
"Well, I don't think I'll do it," laughed the artist. "I made up my
mind not long ago to put some of those fellows behind the bars, and I am
going to put them there."
"Only be careful, Mr. Nast, that you do not first put yourself in a
coffin," said the banker as he left.
A public meeting in Cooper Institute, April 6, 1871, was addressed by
William E. Dodge, Henry Ward Beecher, William M. Evarts, and William F.
Havemeyer. They vehemently denounced Tweed and his gang. Tweed smiled
and asked, "Well, what are you going to do about it?" On the 4th of
September, the same year, a second mass meeting held in the same place
answered the question by appointing a committee of seventy. Tweed,
Sweeny, and Hall, now alarmed by the disclosures in the Times, decided
to make Connolly the scapegoat, and asked the aldermen and supervisors
to appoint a committee to examine his accounts. By the time the
committee appeared for the examination--its purpose had been well
announced--the vouchers for 1869 and 1870 had disappeared. Mayor Hall
then asked for Connolly's resignation. But instead, Connolly consulted
Samuel J. Tilden, who advised him to appoint Andrew H. Green, a
well-known and respected citizen, as his deputy. This turned the tables
on the three other members of the Ring, whose efforts to oust both
Connolly and Green were unavailing. In this manner the citizens
got control of the treasury books, and the Grand Jury began its
inquisitions. Sweeny and Connolly soon fled to Europe. Sweeny afterwards
settled for $400,000 and returned. Hall's case was presented to a grand
jury which proved to be packed. A new panel was ordered but failed to
return an indictment because of lack of evidence. Hall was subsequently
indicted, but his trial resulted in a disagreement.
Tweed was indicted for felony. He remained at large on bail and was
twice tried in 1873. The first trial resulted in a disagreement, the
second in a conviction. His sentence was a fine of $12,000 and twelve
years' imprisonment. When he arrived at the penitentiary, he answered
the customary questions. "What occupation?" "Statesman." "What
religion?" "None." He served one year and was then released on a flimsy
technicality by the Court of Appeals. Civil suits were now brought, and,
unable to obtain the $3,000,000 bail demanded, the fallen boss was sent
to jail. He escaped to Cuba, and finally to Spain, but he was again
arrested, returned to New York on a man-of-war, and put into Ludlow
Street jail, where he died April 12, 1878, apparently without money or
friends.
The exact amount of the plunder was never ascertained. An expert
accountant employed by the housecleaners estimated that for three years,
1868-71, the frauds totaled between $45,000,000 and $50,000,000. The
estimate of the aldermen's committee was $60,000,000. Tweed never gave
any figures; he probably had never counted his gains, but merely spent
them as they came. O'Rourke, one of the gang, estimated that the Ring
stole about $75,000,000 during 1865-71, and that, "counting vast issues
of fraudulent bonds," the looting "probably amounted to $200,000,000."
The story of these disclosures circled the earth and still affects the
popular judgment of the American metropolis. It seemed as though Tammany
were forever discredited. But, to the despair of reformers, in 1874
Tammany returned to power, electing its candidate for mayor by over 9000
majority. The new boss who maneuvered this rapid resurrection was John
Kelly, a stone-mason, known among his Irish followers as "Honest John."
Besides the political probity which the occasion demanded, he possessed
a capacity for knowing men and sensing public opinion. This enabled him
to lift the prostrate organization. He persuaded such men as Samuel J.
Tilden, the distinguished lawyer, August Belmont, a leading financier,
Horatio Seymour, who had been governor, and Charles O'Conor, the famous
advocate, to become sachems under him. This was evidence of reform
from within. Cooperation with the Bar Association, the Taxpayers'
Association, and other similar organizations evidenced a desire of
reform from without. Kelly "bossed" the Hall until his death, June 1,
1886.
He was succeeded by Richard Croker, a machinist, prizefighter, and
gang-leader. Croker began his official career as a court attendant under
the notorious Judge Barnard and later was an engineer in the service of
the city. These places he held by Tammany favor, and he was so useful
that in 1868 he was made alderman. A quarrel with Tweed lost him the
place, but a reconciliation soon landed him in the lucrative office of
Superintendent of Market Fees and Rents, under Connolly. In 1873 he was
elected coroner and ten years later was appointed fire commissioner. His
career as boss was marked by much political cleverness and caution and
by an equal degree of moral obtuseness.
The triumph of Tammany in 1892 was followed by such ill-disguised
corruption that the citizens of New York were again roused from their
apathy. The investigations of the Fassett Committee of the State Senate
two years previously had shown how deep the tentacles of Tammany were
thrust into the administrative departments of the city. The Senate now
appointed another investigating committee, of which Clarence Lexow was
the chairman and John W. Goff the counsel. The Police Department came
under its special scrutiny. The disclosures revealed the connivance of
the police in stupendous election frauds. The President of the Police
Board himself had distributed at the polls the policemen who committed
these frauds. It was further revealed that vice and crime under police
protection had been capitalized on a great scale. It was worth money to
be a policeman. One police captain testified he had paid $15,000 for
his promotions; another paid $12,000. It cost $300 to be appointed
patrolman. Over six hundred policy-shops were open, each paying $1500 a
month for protection; pool rooms paid $300 a month; bawdy-houses, from
$25 to $50 per month per inmate. And their patrons paid whatever they
could be blackmailed out of; streetwalkers, whatever they could be
wheedled out of; saloons, $20 per month; pawnbrokers, thieves, and thugs
shared with the police their profits, as did corporations and others
seeking not only favors but their rights. The committee in its statement
to the Grand Jury (March, 1892) estimated that the annual plunder from
these sources was over $7,000,000.
During the committee's sessions Croker was in Europe on important
business. But he found time to order the closing of disreputable
resorts, and, though he was only a private citizen and three thousand
miles away, his orders were promptly obeyed.
Aroused by these disclosures and stimulated by the lashing sermons
of the Rev. Charles H. Parkhurst, the citizens of New York, in 1894,
elected a reform government, with William L. Strong as Mayor. His
administration set up for the metropolis a new standard of city
management. Colonel George E. Waring organized, for the first time in
the city's history, an efficient streetcleaning department. Theodore
Roosevelt was appointed Police Commissioner. These men and their
associates gave to New York a period of thrifty municipal housekeeping.
But the city returned to its filth. After the incorporation of Greater
New York and the election of Robert A. Van Wyck as its mayor, the great
beast of Tammany arose and extended its eager claws over the vast area
of the new city.
The Mazet Committee was appointed by the legislature in 1899 to
investigate rumors of renewed corruption. But the inquiry which followed
was not as penetrating nor as free from partizan bias as thoughtful
citizens wished. The principal exposure was of the Ice Trust, an attempt
to monopolize the city's ice supply, in which city officials were
stockholders, the mayor to the extent of 5000 shares, valued at
$500,000. It was shown, too, that Tammany leaders were stockholders in
corporations which received favors from the city. Governor Roosevelt,
however, refused to remove Mayor Van Wyck because the evidence against
him was insufficient.
The most significant testimony before the Mazet Committee was that given
by Boss Croker himself. His last public office had been that of City
Chamberlain, 1889-90, at a salary of $25,000. Two years later he
purchased for $250,000 an interest in a stock-farm and paid over
$100,000 for some noted race-horses. He spent over half a million
dollars on the English racetrack in three years and was reputed a
millionaire, owning large blocks of city real estate. He told the
committee that he virtually determined all city nominations; and that
all candidates were assessed, even judicial candidates, from $10,000
to $25,000 for their nominations. "We try to have a pretty effective
organization--that's what we are there for," he explained. "We are
giving the people pure organization government," even though the
organizing took "a lot of time" and was "very hard work." Tammany
members stood by one another and helped each other, not only in politics
but in business. "We want the whole business [city business] if we can
get it." If "we win, we expect everyone to stand by us." Then he uttered
what must have been to every citizen of understanding a self-evident
truth, "I am working for my pockets all the time."
Soon afterwards Croker retired to his Irish castle, relinquishing the
leadership to Charles Murphy, the present boss. The growing alertness of
the voters, however, makes Murphy's task a more difficult one than that
of any of his predecessors. It is doubtful if the nature of the machine
has changed during all the years of its history. Tweed and Croker were
only natural products of the system. They typify the vulgar climax of
organized looting.
In 1913 the Independent Democrats, Republicans, and Progressives
united in a fusion movement. They nominated and, after a most spirited
campaign, elected John Purroy Mitchel as mayor. He was a young man, not
yet forty, had held important city offices, and President Wilson had
appointed him Collector of the Port of New York. His experience, his
vigor, ability, and straight-dealing commended him to the friends of good
government, and they were not disappointed. The Mitchel regime set a
new record for clean and efficient municipal administration. Men of high
character and ability were enlisted in public service, and the Police
Department, under Commissioner Woods, achieved a new usefulness.
The decent citizens, not alone in the metropolis, but throughout the
country, believed with Theodore Roosevelt that Mr. Mitchel was "the
best mayor New York ever had." But neither the effectiveness of
his administration nor the combined efforts of the friends of good
government could save him from the designs of Tammany Hall when, in
1917, he was a candidate for reelection. Through a tactical blunder of
the Fusionists, a small Republican group was permitted to control the
party primaries and nominate a candidate of its own; the Socialists,
greatly augmented by various pacifist groups, made heavy inroads among
the foreign-born voters. And, while the whole power and finesse of
Tammany were assiduously undermining the mayor's strength, ethnic,
religious, partizan, and geographical prejudices combined to elect
the machine candidate, Judge Hylan, a comparatively unknown Brooklyn
magistrate.
How could Tammany regain its power, and that usually within two
years, after such disclosures as we have seen? The main reason is the
scientific efficiency of the organization. The victory of Burr in New
York in 1800 was the first triumph of the first ward machine in America,
and Tammany has forgotten neither this victory nor the methods by which
it was achieved. The organization which was then set in motion has
simply been enlarged to keep easy pace with the city's growth. There
are, in fact, two organizations, Tammany Hall, the political machine,
and Tammany Society, the "Columbian Order" organized by Mooney, which
is ruled by sachems elected by the members. Both organizations, however,
are one in spirit. We need concern ourselves only with the organization
of Tammany Hall.
The framework of Tammany Hall's machinery has always been the general
committee, still known, in the phraseology of Burr's day, as "the
Democratic-Republican General Committee." It is a very democratic body
composed of representatives from every assembly district, apportioned
according to the number of voters in the district. The present
apportionment is one committeeman for every fifteen votes. This makes a
committee of over 9000, an unwieldy number. It is justified, however, on
two very practical grounds: first, that it is large enough to keep close
to the voters; and second, that its assessment of ten dollars a member
brings in $90,000 a year to the war chest. This general committee holds
stated meetings and appoints subcommittees. The executive committee,
composed of the leaders of the assembly districts and the chairman and
treasurer of the county committee, is the real working body of the
great committee. It attends to all important routine matters, selects
candidates for office, and conducts their campaigns. It is customary for
the members of the general committee to designate the district leaders
for the executive committee, but they are elected by their own districts
respectively at the annual primary elections. The district leader is a
very important wheel in the machine. He not only leads his district
but represents it on the executive committee; and this brotherhood of
leaders forms the potent oligarchy of Tammany. Its sanction crowns the
high chieftain, the boss, who, in turn, must be constantly on the alert
that his throne is not undermined; that is to say, he and his district
leaders must "play politics" within their own bailiwicks to keep their
heads on their own shoulders. After their enfranchisement in New York
(1917) women were made eligible to the general and executive committees.
Thirty-seven were at once elected to the executive committee, and plans
were made to give them one-half of the representation on the general
committee.
Each of the twenty-three assembly districts is in turn divided into
election districts of about 400 voters, each with a precinct captain who
is acquainted with every voter in his precinct and keeps track, as
far as possible, of his affairs. In every assembly district there are
headquarters and a club house, where the voters can go in the evening
and enjoy a smoke, a bottle, and a more or less quiet game.
This organization is never dormant. And this is the key to its vitality.
There is no mystery about it. Tammany is as vigilant between elections
as it is on election day. It has always been solicitous for the poor and
the humble, who most need and best appreciate help and attention. Every
poor immigrant is welcomed, introduced to the district headquarters,
given work, or food, or shelter. Tammany is his practical friend; and in
return he is merely to become naturalized as quickly as possible under
the wardship of a Tammany captain and by the grace of a Tammany judge,
and then to vote the Tammany ticket. The new citizen's lessons in
political science are all flavored with highly practical notions.
Tammany's machinery enables a house-to-house canvass to be made in one
day. But this machinery must be oiled. There are three sources of
the necessary lubricant: offices, jobs, the sale of favors; these are
dependent on winning the elections. From its very earliest days,
fraud at the polls has been a Tammany practice. As long as property
qualifications were required, money was furnished for buying houses
which could harbor a whole settlement of voters. It was not, however,
until the adoption of universal suffrage that wholesale frauds became
possible or useful; for with a limited suffrage it was necessary to sway
only a few score votes to carry an ordinary election.
Fernando Wood set a new pace in this race for votes. It has been
estimated that in 1854 there "were about 40,000 shiftless, unprincipled
persons who lived by their wits and the labor of others. The trade of
a part of these was turning primary elections, packing nominating
conventions, repeating, and breaking up meetings." Wood also
systematized naturalization. A card bearing the following legend was the
open sesame to American citizenship:
"Common Pleas:
Please naturalize the bearer.
N. Seagrist, Chairman."
Seagrist was one of the men charged by an aldermanic committee "with
robbing the funeral pall of Henry Clay when his sacred person passed
through this city."
When Hoffman was first elected mayor, over 15,000 persons were
registered who could not be found at the places indicated. The
naturalization machinery was then running at high speed. In 1868, from
25,000 to 30,000 foreigners were naturalized in New York in six weeks.
Of 156,288 votes cast in the city, 25,000 were afterwards shown to be
fraudulent. It was about this time that an official whose duty it was
to swear in the election inspectors, not finding a Bible at hand, used a
volume of Ollendorf's "New Method of Learning to Read, Write, and Speak
French." The courts sustained this substitution on the ground that it
could not possibly have vitiated the election!
A new federal naturalization law and rigid election laws have made
wholesale frauds impossible; and the genius of Tammany is now attempting
to adjust itself to the new immigration, the new political spirit, and
the new communal vigilance. Its power is believed by some optimistic
observers to be waning. But the evidences are not wanting that its
vitality and internal discipline are still persistent.