My twelve years in the Senate were among the happiest of my life.
The Senate has long enjoyed the reputation of being the best club
in the world, but it is more than that. My old friend,
Senator Bacon, of Georgia, often said that he preferred the
position of senator to that of either President or Chief Justice
of the United States. There is independence in a term of six years
which is of enormous value to the legislative work of the senator.
The member of the House, who is compelled to go before his
district every two years, must spend most of his time looking
after his re-election. Then the Senate, being a smaller body,
the associations are very close and intimate. I do not intend
to go into discussion of the measures which occupied the attention
of the Senate during my time. They are a part of the history
of the world. The value of a work of this kind, if it has any
value, is in personal incidents.
One of the most delightful associations of a lifetime personally
and politically, was that with Vice-President James S. Sherman.
During the twenty-two years he was in the House of Representatives
he rarely was in the City of New York without coming to see me.
He became the best parliamentarian in Congress, and was generally
called to the chair when the House met in committee of the whole.
He was intimately familiar with every political movement in
Washington, and he had a rare talent for discriminatory description,
both of events and analysis of the leading characters in the
Washington drama. He was one of the wisest of the advisers of
the organization of his party, both national and State.
When President Roosevelt had selected Mr. Taft as his successor
he made no indication as to the vice-presidency. Of course, the
nomination of Mr. Taft under such conditions was a foregone
conclusion, and when the convention met it was practically
unanimous for Roosevelt's choice. Who was the best man to nominate
for vice-president in order to strengthen the ticket embarassed
the managers of the Taft campaign. The Republican congressmen
who were at the convention were practically unanimous for Sherman,
and their leader was Uncle Joe Cannon. We from New York found
the Taft managers discussing candidates from every doubtful State.
We finally convinced them that New York was the most important, but
they had gone so far with State candidates that it became a serious
question how to get rid of them without offending their States.
The method adopted by one of the leading managers was both adroit
and hazardous. He would call up a candidate on the telephone and
say to him: "The friends of Mr. Taft are very favorable to you for
vice-president. Will you accept the nomination?" The candidate
would hesitate and begin to explain his ambitions, his career and
its possibilities, and the matter which he would have to consider.
Before the prospective candidate had finished, the manager would
say, "Very sorry, deeply regret," and put up the telephone.
When the nomination was made these gentlemen who might have
succeeded would come around to the manager and say impatiently
and indignantly: "I was all right. Why did you cut me off?"
However, those gentlemen have had their compensation. Whenever you
meet one of them he will say to you: "I was offered the
vice-presidency with Taft but was so situated that I could not accept."
One evening during the convention a wind and rain storm drove
everybody indoors. The great lobby of Congress Hall was crowded,
and most of them were delegates. Suddenly there was a loud call
for a speech, and some husky and athletic citizen seized and
lifted me on to a chair. After a story and a joke, which put the
crowd into a receptive mood, I made what was practically a
nominating speech for Sherman. The response was intense and
unanimous. When I came down from a high flight as to the ability
and popularity to the human qualities of "Sunny Jim," I found
"Sunny Jim" such a taking characterization, and it was echoed
and re-echoed. I do not claim that speech nominated Sherman,
only that nearly everybody who was present became a most vociferous
advocate for Sherman for vice-president.
The position of vice-president is one of the most difficult in our
government. Unless the president requests his advice or assistance,
he has no public function except presiding over the Senate. No
president ever called the vice-president into his councils.
McKinley came nearest to it during his administration, with Hobart,
but did not keep it up.
President Harding has made a precedent for the future by inviting
Vice-President Coolidge to attend all Cabinet meetings. The
vice-president has accepted and meets regularly with the Cabinet.
Sherman had one advantage over other vice-presidents in having
been for nearly a quarter of a century a leader in Congress. Few,
if any, who ever held that office have been so popular with the
Senate and so tactful and influential when they undertook the very
difficult task of influencing the action of a Senate, very jealous
of its prerogatives and easily made resentful and hostile.
Among my colleagues in the Senate were several remarkable men.
They had great ability, extraordinary capacity for legislation,
and, though not great orators, possessed the rare faculty of
pressing their points home in short and effective speeches. Among
them was Senator Frye, of Maine. He was for many years chairman
of the great committee on commerce. Whatever we had of a merchant
marine was largely due to his persistent efforts. He saved the
government scores of millions in that most difficult task of pruning
the River and Harbor Bill. He possessed the absolute confidence
of both parties, and was the only senator who could generally carry
the Senate with him for or against a measure. While wise and
the possessor of the largest measure of common sense, yet he was
one of the most simple-minded of men. I mean by this that he had
no guile and suspected none in others. Whatever was uppermost
in his mind came out. These characteristics made him one of the
most delightful of companions and one of the most harmonious
men to work with on a committee.
Clement A. Griscom, the most prominent American ship owner and
director, was very fond of Senator Frye. Griscom entertained
delightfully at his country home near Philadelphia. He told me
that at one time Senator Frye was his guest over a week-end.
To meet the senator at dinner on Saturday evening, he had invited
great bankers, lawyers, and captains of industry of Philadelphia.
Their conversation ran from enterprises and combinations involving
successful industries and exploitations to individual fortunes
and how they were accumulated. The atmosphere was heavy with
millions and billions. Suddenly Griscom turned to Senator Frye
and said: "I know that our successful friends here would not only
be glad to hear but would learn much if you would tell us of your
career." "It is not much to tell," said Senator Frye, "especially
after these stories which are like chapters from the 'Arabian Nights.'
I was very successful as a young lawyer and rising to a leading
practice and head of the bar of my State when I was offered
an election to the House of Representatives. I felt that it would
be a permanent career and that there was no money in it. I
consulted my wife and told her that it meant giving up all prospects
of accumulating a fortune or independence even, but it was my
ambition, and I believed I could perform valuable service to
the public, and that as a career its general usefulness would far
surpass any success at the bar. My wife agreed with me cordially
and said that she would economize on her part to any extent required.
"So," the senator continued, "I have been nearly thirty years in
Congress, part of this time in the House and the rest in the Senate.
I have been able on my salary to meet our modest requirements
and educate our children. I have never been in debt but once. Of
course, we had to calculate closely and set aside sufficient
to meet our extra expenses in Washington and our ordinary one
at home. We came out a little ahead every year but one. That
year the president very unexpectedly called an extra session,
and for the first time in twenty years I was in debt to our landlord
in Washington."
Griscom told me that this simple narrative of a statesman of
national reputation seemed to make the monumental achievements
of his millionaire guests of little account.
Senator Frye's genial personality and vivid conversation made
him a welcome guest at all entertainments in Washington. There
was a lady at the capital at that time who entertained a great deal
and was very popular on her own account, but she always began
the conversation with the gentleman who took her out by narrating
how she won her husband. I said one day to Senator Frye: "There
will be a notable gathering at So-and-So's dinner to-night. Are
you going?" He answered: "Yes, I will be there; but it has been
my lot to escort to dinner this lady"--naming her--"thirteen times
this winter. She has told me thirteen times the story of her
courtship. If it is my luck to be assigned to her to-night, and
she starts that story, I shall leave the table and the house
and go home."
Senator Aldrich, of Rhode Island, was once called by Senator Quay
the schoolmaster of the Senate. As the head of the finance
committee he had commanding influence, and with his skill in
legislation and intimate knowledge of the rules he was the leader
whenever he chose to lead. This he always did when the policy
he desired or the measure he was promoting had a majority, and
the opposition resorted to obstructive tactics. As there is no
restriction on debate in the Senate, or was none at my time, the
only way the minority could defeat the majority was by talking
the bill to death. I never knew this method to be used successfully
but once, because in the trial of endurance the greater number
wins. The only successful talk against time was by Senator Carter,
of Montana. Carter was a capital debater. He was invaluable at
periods when the discussion had become very bitter and personal.
Then in his most suave way he would soothe the angry elements
and bring the Senate back to a calm consideration of the question.
When he arose on such occasions, the usual remark among those
who still kept their heads was: "Carter will now bring out his
oil can and pour oil upon the troubled waters"--and it usually
proved effective.
Senator George F. Hoar, of Massachusetts, seemed to be a revival
of what we pictured in imagination as the statesmen who framed
the Constitution of the United States, or the senators who sat
with Webster, Clay, and Calhoun. He was a man of lofty ideals
and devotion to public service. He gave to each subject on which
he spoke an elevation and dignity that lifted it out of ordinary
senatorial discussions. He had met and knew intimately most
of the historical characters in our public life for fifty years,
and was one of the most entertaining and instructive conversationalists
whom I ever met.
On the other hand, Senator Benjamin Tillman, of South Carolina,
who was an ardent admirer of Senator Hoar, was his opposite in
every way. Tillman and I became very good friends, though at
first he was exceedingly hostile. He hated everything which
I represented. With all his roughness, and at the beginning
his brutality, he had a singular streak of sentiment.
I addressed the first dinner of the Gridiron Club at its organization
and have been their guest many times since. The Gridiron Club
is an association of the newspaper correspondents at Washington,
and their dinners several times a year are looked forward to with
the utmost interest and enjoyed by everybody privileged to attend.
The Gridiron Club planned an excursion to Charleston, S. C., that
city having extended to them an invitation. They invited me to
go with them and also Senator Tillman. Tillman refused to be
introduced to me because I was chairman of the board of directors
of the New York Central Railroad, and he hated my associations
and associates. We had a wonderful welcome from the most hospitable
of cities, the most beautifully located City of Charleston. On
the many excursions, luncheons, and gatherings, I was put forward
to do the speaking, which amounted to several efforts a day during
our three days' visit. The Gridiron stunt for Charleston was very
audacious. There were many speakers, of course, including
Senator Tillman, who hated Charleston and the Charlestonians,
because he regarded them as aristocrats and told them so. There
were many invited to speak who left their dinners untasted while
they devoted themselves to looking over their manuscripts, and
whose names were read in the list at the end of the dinner, but
their speeches were never called for.
On our way home we stopped for luncheon at a place outside of
Charleston. During the luncheon an earthquake shook the table
and rattled the plates. I was called upon to make the farewell
address for the Gridiron Club to the State of South Carolina.
Of course the earthquake and its possibilities gave an opportunity
for pathos as well as humor, and Tillman was deeply affected.
When we were on the train he came to me and with great emotion
grasped my hand and said: "Chauncey Depew, I was mistaken about
you. You are a damn good fellow." And we were good friends
until he died.
I asked Tillman to what he owed his phenomenal rise and strength
in the conservative State of South Carolina. He answered: "We
in our State were governed by a class during the colonial period
and afterwards until the end of the Civil War. They owned large
plantations, hundreds of thousands of negroes, were educated
for public life, represented our State admirably, and did great
service to the country. They were aristocrats and paid little
attention to us poor farmers, who constituted the majority of
the people. The only difference between us was that they had
been colonels or generals in the Revolutionary War, or delegates
to the Continental Congress or the Constitutional Convention, while
we had been privates, corporals, or sergeants. They generally
owned a thousand slaves, and we had from ten to thirty. I made
up my mind that we should have a share of the honors, and they
laughed at me. I organized the majority and put the old families
out of business, and we became and are the rulers of the State."
Among the most brilliant debaters of any legislative body were
Senators Joseph W. Bailey, of Texas, and John C. Spooner, of
Wisconsin. They would have adorned and given distinction to any
legislative body in the world. Senator Albert J. Beveridge, of
Indiana, and Senator Joseph B. Foraker, of Ohio, were speakers
of a very high type. The Senate still has the statesmanship,
eloquence, scholarship, vision, and culture of Senator Lodge,
of Massachusetts.
One of the wonders of the Senate was Senator W. M. Crane, of
Massachusetts. He never made a speech. I do not remember that
he ever made a motion. Yet he was the most influential member
of that body. His wisdom, tact, sound judgment, encyclopaedic
knowledge of public affairs and of public men made him an authority.
Senator Hanna, who was a business man pure and simple, and wholly
unfamiliar with legislative ways, developed into a speaker of
remarkable force and influence. At the same time, on the social
side, with his frequent entertainments, he did more for the measures
in which he was interested. They were mainly, of course, of a
financial and economic character.
One of the characters of the Senate, and one of the upheavals
of the Populist movement was Senator Jeff. Davis, of Arkansas.
Davis was loudly, vociferously, and clamorously a friend of the
people. Precisely what he did to benefit the people was never
very clear, but if we must take his word for it, he was the only
friend the people had. Among his efforts to help the people was
to denounce big business of all kinds and anything which gave large
employment or had great capital. I think that in his own mind
the ideal state would have been made of small landowners and
an occasional lawyer. He himself was a lawyer.
One day he attacked me, as I was sitting there listening to him,
in a most vicious way, as the representative of big corporations,
especially railroads, and one of the leading men in the worst
city in the world, New York, and as the associate of bankers and
capitalists. When he finished Senator Crane went over to his seat
and told him that he had made a great mistake, warned him that
he had gone so far that I might be dangerous to him personally,
but in addition to that, with my ridicule and humor, I would make
him the laughing-stock of the Senate and of the country. Jeff,
greatly alarmed, waddled over to my seat and said: "Senator Depew,
I hope you did not take seriously what I said. I did not mean
anything against you. I won't do it again, but I thought that you
would not care, because it won't hurt you, and it does help me
out in Arkansas." I replied: "Jeff, old man, if it helps you,
do it as often as you like." Needless to say, he did not repeat.
I have always been deeply interested in the preservation of the
forests and a warm advocate of forest preservers. I made a study
of the situation of the Appalachian Mountains, where the lumberman
was doing his worst, and millions of acres of fertile soil from the
denuded hills were being swept by the floods into the ocean every
year. I made a report from my committee for the purchase of this
preserve, affecting, as it did, eight States, and supported it
in a speech. Senator Eugene Hale, a Senate leader of controlling
influence, had been generally opposed to this legislation. He
became interested, and, when I had finished my speech, came over
to me and said: "I never gave much attention to this subject.
You have convinced me and this bill should be passed at once,
and I will make the motion." Several senators from the States
affected asked for delay in order that they might deliver speeches
for local consumption. The psychological moment passed and that
legislation could not be revived until ten years afterwards, and
then in a seriously modified form.
I worked very hard for the American mercantile marine. A subsidy
of four million dollars a year in mail contracts would have been
sufficient, in addition to the earnings of the ships, to have given
us lines to South and Central America, Australia, and Asia.
Shakespeare's famous statement that a rose by any other name
would smell as sweet has exceptions. In the psychology of the
American mind the word subsidy is fatal to any measure. After
the most careful investigation, while I was in the Senate, I
verified this statement, that a mail subsidy of four millions
a year would give to the United States a mercantile marine which
would open new trade routes for our commerce. This contribution
would enable the ship-owners to meet the losses which made it
impossible for them to compete with the ships of other countries,
some having subsidies and all under cheaper expenses of operation.
It would not all be a contribution because part of it was a
legitimate charge for carrying the mails. The word subsidy,
however, could be relied upon to start a flood of fiery oratory,
charging that the people of the United States were to be taxed
to pour money into the pockets of speculators in New York and
financial crooks in Wall Street.
We have now created a mercantile marine through the Shipping Board
which is the wonder and amazement of the world. It has cost about
five hundred millions. Part of it is junk already, and a part
available is run at immense loss, owing to discriminatory laws.
Recently a bill was presented to Congress for something like sixty
millions of dollars to make up the losses in the operations of our
mercantile marine for the year. While a subsidy of four millions
under private management would have been a success but was vetoed
as a crime, the sixty millions are hailed as a patriotic contribution
to public necessity.
A river and harbor bill of from thirty to fifty millions of dollars
was eagerly anticipated and enthusiastically supported. It was
known to be a give and take, a swap and exchange, where a few
indispensable improvements had to carry a large number of dredgings
of streams, creeks, and bayous, which never could be made navigable.
Many millions a year were thrown away in these river and harbor
bills, but four millions a year to restore the American mercantile
marine aroused a flood of indignant eloquence, fierce protest,
and wild denunciation of capitalists, who would build and own
ships, and it was always fatal to the mercantile marine.
Happily the war has, among its benefits, demonstrated to the
interior and mountain States that a merchant marine is as necessary
to the United States as its navy, and that we cannot hope to expand
and retain our trade unless we have the ships.
I remember one year when the river and harbor bill came up for
passage on the day before final adjournment. The hour had been
fixed by both Houses, and, therefore, could not be extended by
one House. The administration was afraid of the bill because of
the many indefensible extravagances there were in it. At the
same time, it had so many political possibilities that the president
was afraid to veto it. Senator Carter was always a loyal
administration man, and so he was put forward to talk the bill
to death. He kept it up without yielding the floor for thirteen
hours, and until the hour of adjournment made action upon the
measure impossible.
I sat there all night long, watching this remarkable effort. The
usual obstructor soon uses up all his own material and then sends
pages of irrelevant matter to the desk for the clerk to read, or
he reads himself from the pages of the Record, or from books,
but Carter stuck to his text. He was a man of wit and humor.
Many items in the river and harbor bill furnished him with an
opportunity of showing how creeks and trout streams were to be
turned by the magic of the money of the Treasury into navigable
rivers, and inaccessible ponds were to be dredged into harbors
to float the navies of the world.
The speech was very rich in anecdotes and delightful in its success
by an adroit attack of tempting a supporter of the measure into
aiding the filibuster by indignantly denying the charge which
Carter had made against him. By this method Carter would get
a rest by the folly of his opponent. The Senate was full and
the galleries were crowded during the whole night, and when the
gavel of the vice-president announced that no further debate was
admissible and the time for adjournment had arrived, and began
to make his farewell speech, Carter took his seat amidst the wreck
of millions and the hopes of the exploiters, and the Treasury
of the United States had been saved by an unexpected champion.
The country does not appreciate the tremendous power of the
committees, as legislative business constantly increases with
almost geometrical progression. The legislation of the country
is handled almost entirely in committees. It requires a possible
revolution to overcome the hostility of a committee, even if the
House and the country are otherwise minded. Some men whose names
do not appear at all in the Congressional Record, and seldom in
the newspapers, have a certain talent for drudgery and detail
which is very rare, and when added to shrewdness and knowledge
of human nature makes such a senator or representative a force
to be reckoned with on committees. Such a man is able to hold
up almost anything.
I found during my Washington life the enormous importance of its
social side. Here are several hundred men in the two Houses of
Congress, far above the average in intelligence, force of character,
and ability to accomplish things. Otherwise they would not have
been elected. They are very isolated and enjoy far beyond those
who have the opportunity of club life, social attentions. At dinner
the real character of the guest comes out, and he is most responsive
to these attentions. Mrs. Depew and I gave a great many dinners,
to our intense enjoyment and, I might say, education. By this
method I learned to know in a way more intimate than otherwise
would have been possible many of the most interesting characters
I have ever met.
Something must be done, and that speedily, to bridge the widening
chasm between the Executive and the Congress. Our experience
with President Wilson has demonstrated this. As a self-centred
autocrat, confident of himself and suspicious of others, hostile to
advice or discussion, he became the absolute master of the Congress
while his party was in the majority.
The Congress, instead of being a co-ordinate branch, was really
in session only to accept, adopt, and put into laws the imperious
will of the president. When, however, the majority changed, there
being no confidence between the executive and the legislative
branch of the government, the necessary procedure was almost
paralyzed. The president was unyielding and the Congress insisted
upon the recognition of its constitutional rights. Even if the
president is, as McKinley was, in close and frequent touch with
the Senate and the House of Representatives, the relation is
temporary and unequal, and not what it ought to be, automatic.
Happily we have started a budget system; but the Cabinet should
have seats on the floor of the Houses, and authority to answer
questions and participate in debates. Unless our system was
radically changed, we could not adopt the English plan of selecting
the members of the Cabinet entirely from the Senate and the House.
But we could have an administration always in close touch with
the Congress if the Cabinet members were in attendance when matters
affecting their several departments were under discussion and action.
I heard Senator Nelson W. Aldrich, who was one of the shrewdest and
ablest legislators of our generation, say that if business methods
were applied to the business of the government in a way in which
he could do it, there would be a saving of three hundred millions
of dollars a year. We are, since the Great War, facing
appropriations of five or six billions of dollars a year. I think
the saving of three hundred millions suggested by Senator Aldrich
could be increased in proportion to the vast increase in appropriations.
There has been much discussion about restricting unlimited debates
in the Senate and adopting a rigid closure rule. My own recollection
is that during my twelve years unlimited discussion defeated no
good measure, but talked many bad ones to death. There is a curious
feature in legislative discussion, and that is the way in which
senators who have accustomed themselves to speak every day on
each question apparently increase their vocabulary as their ideas
evaporate. Two senators in my time, who could be relied upon
to talk smoothly as the placid waters of a running brook for an
hour or more every day, had the singular faculty of apparently
saying much of importance while really developing no ideas.
In order to understand them, while the Senate would become empty
by its members going to their committee rooms, I would be a patient
listener. I finally gave that up because, though endowed with
reasonable intelligence and an intense desire for knowledge,
I never could grasp what they were driving at.