“I see,” said Mr. Hennessy, “that wan iv thim New York joods says a man
in pollytics oughtn't to be marrid.”
“Oh, does he?” said Mr. Dooley.
“Well, 'tis little he knows about it. A man in pollytics has got to be
marrid. If he ain't marrid where'll he go f'r another kind iv throuble?
An' where'll he find people to support? An unmarrid man don't get along
in pollytics because he don't need th' money. Whin he's in th' middle iv
a prim'ry, with maybe twinty or thirty iv th' opposite party on top
iv him, thinks he to himsilf: 'What's th' good iv fightin' f'r a job?
They'se no wan depindant on me f'r support,' an' he surrinders. But a
marrid man says: 'What'll happen to me wife an' twelve small childher if
I don't win out here today?' an' he bites his way to th' top iv th' pile
an' breaks open th' ballot box f'r home and fireside. That's th' thruth
iv it, Hinnissy. Ye'll find all th' big jobs held be marrid men an' all
th' timpry clerkships be bachelors.”
“Th' reason th' New York jood thinks marrid men oughtn't to be in
pollytics is because he thinks pollytics is spoort. An' so it is. But
it ain't amachoor spoort, Hinnissy. They don't give ye a pewter mug with
ye'er name on it f'r takin' a chanst on bein' kilt. 'Tis a profissional
spoort, like playin' base-ball f'r a livin' or wheelin' a thruck. Ye
niver see an amachoor at annything that was as good as a profissional.
Th' best amachoor ball team is beat be a bad profissional team; a
profissional boxer that thrains on bock beer an' Swiss cheese can lam
the head off a goold medal amachoor champeen that's been atin' moldy
bread an' dhrinkin' wather f'r six months, an' th' Dago that blows th'
cornet on th' sthreet f'r what annywan 'll throw him can cut the figure
eight around Dinnis Finn, that's been takin' lessons f'r twinty year.
No, sir, pollytics ain't dhroppin' into tea, an' it ain't wurrukin' a
scroll saw, or makin' a garden in a back yard. 'Tis gettin' up at six
o'clock in th' mornin' an' r-rushin' off to wurruk, an' comin' home at
night tired an' dusty. Double wages f'r overtime an' Sundahs.”
“So a man's got to be marrid to do it well. He's got to have a wife at
home to make him oncomfortable if he comes in dhrunk, he's got to
have little prattlin' childher that he can't sind to th' Young Ladies'
academy onless he stuffs a ballotbox properly, an' he's got to have a
sthrong desire f'r to live in th' av'noo an' be seen dhrivin' downtown
in an open carredge with his wife settin' beside him undher a r-red
parasol. If he hasn't these things he won't succeed in pollytics--or
packin' pork. Ye niver see a big man in pollytics that dhrank hard,
did ye? Ye never will. An' that's because they're all marrid. Th'
timptation's sthrong, but fear is sthronger.”
“Th' most domestic men in th' wurruld ar-re politicians, an' they always
marry early. An' that's th' sad part iv it, Hinnissy. A pollytician
always marries above his own station. That's wan sign that he'll be a
successful pollytician. Th' throuble is, th' good woman stays planted
just where she was, an' he goes by like a fast thrain by a whistlin'
station. D'ye mind O'Leary, him that's a retired capitalist now, him
that was aldherman, an' dhrainage thrustee, an' state sinitor f'r wan
term? Well, whin I first knew O'Leary he wurruked down on a railroad
section tampin' th' thrack at wan-fifty a day. He was a sthrong, willin'
young fellow, with a stiff right-hand punch an' a schamin' brain,
an' anny wan cud see that he was intinded to go to th' fr-ront. Th'
aristocracy iv th' camp was Mrs. Cassidy, th' widdy lady that kept th'
boordin'-house. Aristocracy, Hinnissy, is like rale estate, a matther
iv location. I'm aristocracy to th' poor O'Briens back in th' alley, th'
brewery agent's aristocracy to me, his boss is aristocracy to him, an'
so it goes, up to the czar of Rooshia. He's th' pick iv th' bunch, th'
high man iv all, th' Pope not goin' in society. Well, Mrs. Cassidy was
aristocracy to O'Leary. He niver see such a stylish woman as she was
whin she turned out iv a Sundah afthernoon in her horse an' buggy. He'd
think to himsilf, 'If I iver can win that I'm settled f'r life,' an' iv
coorse he did. 'Twas a gran' weddin'; manny iv th' guests didn't show up
at wurruk f'r weeks.”
“O'Leary done well, an' she was a good wife to him. She made money an'
kept him sthraight an' started him for constable. He won out, bein' a
sthrong man. Thin she got him to r-run f'r aldher-man, an' ye shud've
seen her th' night he was inaugurated! Be hivins, Hinnissy, she looked
like a fire in a pawnshop, fair covered with dimons an' goold watches
an' chains. She was cut out to be an aldherman's wife, and it was worth
goin' miles to watch her leadin' th' gran' march at th' Ar-rchy Road
Dimmycratic Fife an' Dhrum Corps ball.”
“But there she stopped. A good woman an' a kind wan, she cudden't go
th' distance. She had th' house an' th' childher to care f'r an' her
eddy-cation was through with. They isn't much a woman can learn afther
she begins to raise a fam'ly. But with O'Leary 'twas diffrent. I say
'twas diff'rent with O'Leary. Ye talk about ye'er colleges, Hinnissy,
but pollytics is th' poor man's college. A la-ad without enough book
larnin' to r-read a meal-ticket, if ye give him tin years iv polly-tical
life, has th' air iv a statesman an' th' manner iv a jook, an' cud take
anny job fr'm dalin' faro bank to r-runnin th' threasury iv th'
United States. His business brings him up again' th' best men iv th'
com-munity, an' their customs an' ways iv speakin' an' thinkin' an
robbin' sticks to him. Th' good woman is at home all day. Th' on'y
people she sees is th' childher an' th' neighbors. While th' good man in
a swallow-tail coat is addhressin' th' Commercial club on what we shud
do f'r to reform pollytics, she's discussin' th' price iv groceries with
th' plumber's wife an' talkin' over th' back fince to the milkman. Thin
O'Leary moves up on th' boolyvard. He knows he'll get along all r-right
on th' boolyvard. Th' men'll say: 'They'se a good deal of rugged common
sinse in that O'Leary. He may be a robber, but they's mighty little that
escapes him.' But no wan speaks to Mrs. O'Leary. No wan asts her opinion
about our foreign policy. She sets day in an' day out behind th' dhrawn
curtains iv her three-story brownstone risidence prayin' that somewan'll
come in an' see her, an if annywan comes she's frozen with fear. An'
'tis on'y whin she slips out to Ar-rchey r-road an' finds th' plumber's
wife, an' sets in th' kitchen over a cup iv tay, that peace comes to
her. By an' by they offer O'Leary th' nommynation f'r congress. He knows
he's fit for it. He's sthronger thin th' young lawyer they have now.
People'll listen to him in Wash'nton as they do in Chicago. He says:
'I'll take it.' An' thin he thinks iv th' wife an' they's no Wash'nton
f'r him. His pollytical career is over. He wud niver have been constable
if he hadn't marrid, but he might have been sinitor if he was a
widower.”
“Mrs. O'Leary was in to see th' Dargans th' other day. 'Ye mus' be very
happy in ye'er gran' house, with Mr. O'Leary doin' so well,' says Mrs.
Dargan. An' th' on'y answer th' foolish woman give was to break down an'
weep on Mrs. Dargan's neck.”
“Yet ye say a pollytician oughtn't to get marrid,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“Up to a certain point,” said Mr. Dooley, “he must be marrid. Afther
that--well, I on'y say that, though pollytics is a gran' career f'r a
man, 'tis a tough wan f'r his wife.”