Now, to be frank, the story of the grafting doesn't interest me
much, though it is as saddening and depressing as ever; and I
can't work up enough enthusiasm for that feature of it to write
anything that would be worth your while to print, or worth
anybody's while to read. Toward the subject I feel the same
apathy that was felt toward the ordinary newspaper account of
some casualty by Thoreau, who would not read, as you will
remember, the accounts--for example--of crimes and accidents,
because, having once grasped the principle, he felt it
unnecessary to multiply, indefinitely, instances of that
principle. The story of Pittsburg, so far as it has been related
to me, is merely the old, squalid story of municipal graft. I
have the names and the dates in an orderly and logical way--who
were sent to the penitentiary, and when, and for what particular
crime, and what the judge said in pronouncing sentence, etc. All
of this has been told over and over and over again in the
newspapers and magazines during the last few years; the only
difference lies in the names and the dates and the place. Indeed,
Pittsburg's story in this respect is hardly as interesting as the
old stories--it is, if anything, more commonplace, more squalid.
But behind all this, there is, of course, a story, and a big one,
as you unerringly divined. Reading between the lines of the dry
recital of facts with which I have been provided, and peering a
little way behind the scenes, I come, I think, upon the real
story, the one that some one should write, the one that some one
should print.
The first chapter, perhaps, is the story of the old political
machines in Pittsburg, and of that interesting, and--in certain
elemental, human senses--strong personality, Chris Magee, the
boss--who has a monument.
Then, there is another personality, of a different sort, in
Blakeley, the district attorney. My accounts are meager and bald,
and yet I catch glimpses of a striking personality. This district
attorney, I should imagine, is a man with the best ideals of the
legal profession, honest, capable, sincere, and unafraid; a man,
withal, who knows life and politics and can play the game without
being soiled in its many contacts. What draws me to him, even at
this distance, is that he seems to have little of the Puritan in
him, as there is too apt to be in prosecutors who convict, and
push their victims within prison doors. And he is another chapter
of the story. But I don't know Blakeley; I can't describe him, I
can't interpret him, and I haven't the time nor the opportunity
just now to become acquainted with him.
Then there is the story of the organization of the Civic League,
or whatever they call it, and especially the story of its
operations. These good citizens, it seems, hired a detective to
come and run their men down for them. To me the private detective
is not the most inspiring and heroic figure on our modern scene;
but that is neither here nor there. One of these detectives
evidently has not only ability but versatility, and in an
interesting manner combines the occupation of a detective with
the profession of an evangelist. It was not, however, he who
worked the old panel game--much as a black paramour might work it
down in the Tenderloin--on certain councilmen, led them into a
trap, and then exposed them--an achievement in confused morals
that has not been permitted to go unapplauded. There are those,
of course, in every city who could think fondly and smugly of
themselves as doing, in this way, preeminently the will of God;
and such deeds not infrequently make men self-righteous.
But, of course, I may be mistaken about the present application
of this generalization, and, as I should like to be just, or,
what is better, to be charitable, I should hesitate, on such
unsupported conclusions, to write it down for the public eye.
There are, of course, those who with logic can justify the larger
end by the smaller means, and thus excuse certain deviations from
the straight line of the moral ideal, and thereby hold one back
from the temptation to divide his moral indignation about equally
between pursuer and pursued. But, if he claimed one's sympathy
for the pursuers, he could not prevent one's pity from going to
the ruined councilmen.