streets lined with black and white people, standing patiently in the
rain just to see the Colonel go by. We had a difficult time getting
him out by the rear entrance for the larger crowd which could not get
inside insisted on a brief speech from a bandstand outside. Then, we
hustled back through the rain to the railroad station, climbed on the
train and now we are approaching the Indiana border en route to Arizona
through Missouri and Kansas. We are to take our meals with the Colonel
three times a day. He promises that this rule will be lived up to. He
relies on us to read the daily newspapers, giving him material. He
never reads the papers as near as I can make out. We look forward to
these next days with great pleasure. We are to tour the plains and run
almost to the rim of the Grand Canyon. The Colonel expects to present
us to some of the old horse thieves and other respectable men with whom
he associated in his cow-punching days!”
October 21, 1916, near Phœnix:
“The trip has been a wonderful experience for me in every way. Think of
chatting with the Colonel three times a day at meals,--Mr. Roosevelt
personally explaining the significance of every adobe, cactus, pinyon
tree, or prairie dog! When we go by a piece of desert, scorching in
the white heat of sun-baked alcali, T. R. recalls an experience thirty
years ago, when he lost some cattle that had sunk in quicksand in a
dry river channel. He has taken us into his absolute confidence. He
tells us stories and gives us opinions which if put on the telegraph
would convulse the country. We are all convinced that not only is he
the greatest American citizen, but also the greatest American humorist.
His sense of humor is as marvelous as his physical and mental energy.
To show you how thoughtful the Colonel is, ... listen to this:--two of
his friends climbed aboard at Prescott early this morning when I was
shaving. That made two extra for breakfast, so Cronin and I insisted
upon waiting for a second table. As we munched our toast and looked out
at the giant cacti swiftly flowing by our window, who should come back
to the table but T. R. ‘Are you boys getting enough to eat?’ he asked,
sitting down. ‘I am so sorry that this inconvenience occurred. If my
visitors had not been old friends who had not breakfasted, I should
never have permitted it.’ How can a fellow help admiring a fellow like
that, especially when he is an ex-President and one of the most famous
characters in the world today?”
October 24, near Albuquerque:
“... It was nearly 100 sitting in the afternoon sun in front of
the speaking stand today. My cloth touring hat was too hot for the
occasion, but without it I imagine I would have keeled over from
prostration or gradually melted away under the press-stand. When the
Colonel got through, his face was dripping. He delivered a corking
talk. There was no heckling because he had been tipped off to answer
at the beginning, the question as to what he would have done in
Mexico had he been President. After he got into his proper speech, and
he read every word of it, there were no interruptions except cheers
of approval. My confidential opinion is, however, that he realizes
that while these western crowds are for him personally, and cheer
whenever he shows his familiar face, they do not understand,--they are
not in down-right serious accord with, the doctrine he preaches. The
Republicans are up against a hopeless situation.... The Roosevelt plan
for compulsory military service, and preparedness are not practical
_this year_ because they have not wide-spread public support. The
crowds come to hear _Roosevelt_.... The crowds in this country are
too busy making money and planning how to make that money make some
more, to realize the deep-rooted appeal of Theodore Roosevelt to their
Americanism. Perhaps, through this hasty review of my impressions in
Arizona, you dear folks at home can enter into this opportunity with
me. I will have an interesting yarn to spin when I return to vote.”
October 25, leaving Denver for Chicago:
“We are swinging down from the lofty Denver plateau surrounded with
white-topped mountain peaks, through the sugar-beet and cattle
farms to Nebraska. We shall wake up in Chicago tomorrow morning
on the last leg of our tour. Colonel Roosevelt makes two or three
speeches in Chicago and then pulls out for New York. Everything was
rush-rush-rush in Denver.... We came by Colorado Springs and Pike’s
Peak at night but were all up, dressed and shaved when the enthusiastic
Denverites descended on the Colonel with bands, bombs, bandannas, and
general noise. Here was an old-fashioned, wild demonstration for the
ex-President. He had not been in Denver for nearly six years. At one
big meeting of 8000 women he showed them the fallacy of Mr. Wilson’s
argument, ‘I have kept you out of war.’ He told them why he was for
suffrage. He had them with him from the start. All of this stuff was
extemporaneous and I had to write 1000 words on it. The night meeting
was a near-riot. We had a stiff fight to get the Colonel out of the
auditorium which is one of the largest halls in the country. They have
an excellent arrangement for getting the speakers in--wide doors open
like a circus and the automobile with the Colonel and ourselves was
driven close to the speaker’s platform. Such a bedlam of noise I never
heard. On the platform were the women speakers from the women’s special
train. When they tried to speak, however, the crowd hooted them down
with cries of ‘We want Teddy--Give us Teddy and Sit down,’ etc. Then
as soon as he began to speak, the Wilson hecklers started shouting,
‘Hurrah for Wilson’--it was all very exciting.... ‘Let me shake hands
with the greatest President since Lincoln,’ one old chap bawled, while
I kept my fist under his chin as we formed a ring around the Colonel,
and half-shoved and half-carried him to his automobile. The Colonel
reached his hand around back of his neck and grasped the old man’s
finger-tips, whereupon he subsided and fell back to tell his children
that this had been the greatest moment in his life.
“There is no antagonism to the Colonel out here. Even the Wilson
supporters love Roosevelt. We have to protect him against his friends,
however.... There is a chap on the train now, an old friend of the
Colonel who has been collecting pictures along the Mexican border. Some
of the atrocities, particularly the burning of bodies and the execution
of soldiers are the most gruesome sights I have ever seen. The Colonel
mentions them when he ridicules the cry that ‘Wilson has kept peace in
Mexico.’ He told me today that some day next week he will entertain
the four of us fellows at Oyster Bay at luncheon in his home. He wants
to show us the trophies room, filled with relics from his African
explorations and his early western life. That will be a compliment to
us as newspaper men on this trip.”
Friday, October 27, Pullman private car leaving Buffalo.
“We have just turned our watches ahead an hour, making it 10:15, and
signifying that we are back in the home zone of eastern time. The
trip is almost over. The rush and hustle of the trip, and the speed
with which we have had to write and file our stories, make it seem a
moving picture hodge-podge, now that it is over. Take yesterday, for
instance,--we pulled into Chicago at 2 P. M. and were greeted by one
of the wildest street demonstrations I have ever seen. The Colonel
never sat down in his seat from the time he left the station until we
arrived at the Congress Hotel. He was up waving his wide-brimmed black
hat and bowing to the cheering mob. Every minute there was a flash,
‘some miscreant photographer,’ as T. R. calls them, had taken a bang
at the Colonel. We had less than an hour to check our baggage in our
rooms, wash up, arrange with the Western Union for filing stories, and
get ready to accompany the Colonel to the Auditorium Theatre across the
street.
“Thanks to the excellent police arrangements, we were able to walk
unmolested through a human line of admirers who had been pushed into
place by the mounted police. At 8 P. M. we called to interview the
Colonel just before he left for the stock-yards. After the Women’s
meeting Cronin and I had to run for the Western Union to get a start on
our story. We taxicabbed back to the Congress Hotel, omitted dinner,
and joined the Roosevelt auto procession to the stock-yards pavilion
which is six miles out of Chicago. How those cars did shoot through the
wide Chicago streets, preceded by a motor squad police patrol with the
mufflers on the machines wide open. It seemed more like going to a fire
than riding to a political meeting.
“In the mêlée of getting the Colonel into the hall, I got separated
from the party and found myself confronted with six wooden-headed
Chicago cops who refused to recognize the official ticket of admission,
distributed to members of the Roosevelt party. I got by one of them by
telling him that I had been all the way to Arizona with the Colonel.
‘Well, I’ll be damned’ he ejaculated. ‘If you’ve been in Arizona,
there is no reason in h---- why you can’t get in here.’ After I got
inside, however, there were more difficulties. The cops and ushers
refused to let me up on the platform with the Colonel and the other
correspondents. While I was fighting, pushing, and kicking around
in the crowd, I heard someone shout down from above, ‘We want Mr.
Lewis up here right away. Make way for Mr. Lewis.’ I looked up and
saw that James R. Garfield, son of President Garfield, himself former
Secretary of the Interior, had come to my rescue. Mr. Garfield had been
travelling with us for two days, and with his assistance the rest was
easy. I was almost carried reverently to the platform and placed on a
perfectly good chair where I could see everything.
“By the way,--Mr. Garfield, next to the Colonel, is the most likeable,
lovable man I met on this trip. He has a face that you like to watch
silently, and contemplate, because you know how fine and corking he
must be. I never heard such a long demonstration as the one which
greeted the Colonel as he stepped out before 18,000 men and women, each
of whom seemed to have a small flag. It began at three minutes before
eight and it stopped at thirty-two minutes past eight. In that long
interim you could hear nothing but one continuous roar of cheering
shouts and stamping feet. There was nothing articulate, no special
cries distinguishable from others, just one blast as though some Titan
engineer had tied down the heavy chain which released the whistle of
100,000 voice power. All efforts to stop it were futile. There was
nothing to do but to let it run down. The band played ‘Gary Owen’ and
the ‘Star Spangled Banner’ and other selections,--T. R. beating time
with a large replica of a ‘Big Stick’ which had been handed to him.
Meanwhile, in this bedlam, Cronin and I were writing new ‘leads’ to our
story on pads in our laps. A Western Union man was sneaking up to the
platform every ten minutes to get copy which was placed on wires on the
pavilion. By writing this way, we got the story into New York before
eleven o’clock, that is, when the meeting was over, by ten o’clock in
Chicago; then there was the rapid shooting ride back to the hotel, a
little grub and bath, and to bed. I _was_ tired.
“We left Chicago at 6.25 A. M., the Colonel’s car being hitched
behind a regular train on the New York Central. The Colonel is
fifty-eight years old today, as you will know, doubtless, before
this letter reaches New Britain. I discovered the fact in reading
his autobiography. He has been so fine to all of us; he has gone
out of his way to make sure that we were treated like members of
his own family; he has entertained us, as correspondents never were
entertained; because what can excel the most interesting American, if
not the greatest, telling anecdotes by the dozen of one of the most
interesting, democratic, dynamic, forcible careers in American History?
A thought that we ought to give him something to remember us by sprang
simultaneously into the minds of Yoder and myself.... Our suggestions
included a fountain-pen, pocket knife, or silver pencil--something
that he could use. We elected Yoder to scout through the Colonel’s
pocket. He went out on the observation platform and casually asked the
Colonel if he could borrow his knife. ‘Yes--Yoder,’ T. R. said, digging
into his pocket, ‘but I am ashamed of it. The blades are rusty, the
handle is cracked. By George, I must get a new one.’ We decided after
hearing Yoder’s report, that a knife was the thing. A handsome, little,
flat, gold knife was picked out and the presentation came at luncheon
today. Odell, in his solemn way, said that I had found out that he
was born on October 27th. ‘Now, Colonel, you have been telling us of
many desperate characters you met in the Southwest.... We decided,
therefore, that you should have a weapon. We have taken counsel and
have determined to give you a little reminder of our pleasure on this
trip....’ The Colonel took the little box, pulled forth the knife, and
smiling a more than Roosevelt smile, ‘By George, isn’t that fine!’ he
exclaimed. ‘I have never had a good pocket knife in all my life, and
I was going to buy one tomorrow. I shall always cherish this gift,--I
shall always carry it with me,’ whereupon he attached it to the chain
with his Phi Beta Kappa key and his little pencil;--‘and I want to say
that I have enjoyed immensely having you with me, and the trip has
been a pleasure to me mainly because you young men have been such good
company. I am too old at the political game to enjoy making speeches. I
do not like it, but we have had a bully good time on this tour, and we
have met a lot of my old friends,--and now, gentlemen, remember this,
if Mr. Hughes is elected on November 7th, I shall never be seen in
politics again. I am through.’ I felt rather sorry to hear the Colonel
say this. He is so energetic and courageous, so full of the fighting
spirit that we need to tone up the national affairs, that it seems a
pity to contemplate his retirement before he attains 60. Of course,
he will write his views for the benefit of the reading public, but
if he follows his inclination, he will become a quiet figure in the
background, leaving younger men to carry through the ideas he created.
We do not believe that the American people, however, will ever permit
him to retire. Just as sure as Wilson is re-elected, there will be a
demand for Theodore Roosevelt in 1920. He knows it and he is trying
to start the talk now through us to show that it is the last thing on
earth he cares to do. He would, I think, have liked to run _this year_;
he would have liked to grapple with the problems which will arise after
the war is over, but he took his licking at the hands of the old-line
Republicans, and he really wants to see their candidate elected.”
On my brother’s return from this trip, so graphically described by the
young and able correspondent whose prophecy that America would not let
Theodore Roosevelt retire into obscurity was so soon to come true, he
continued, up to the evening of the election, to hammer his opinions in
strong, virile sentences into the minds of the audiences before whom he
spoke. I was present in the Brooklyn Theatre, where the crowd was so
great that one of the newspapers reported the next day:
“Say what you will,--there is no other one man in this country that
can draw as large a crowd as Theodore Roosevelt. He is always an
interesting talker as well as an interesting personality. He is not
running for _any_ office this Fall, though to hear some of the other
speakers and to read some of the other newspapers, one might be
pardoned for thinking that he was running for _all_ of them.”
It was at that great meeting in Brooklyn that he referred to a speech
made a few days before by President Wilson in Cincinnati. In the
Cincinnati speech Mr. Wilson had made the remark “that it would never
be right for America to remain out of _another_ war.”
Colonel Roosevelt, after ringing the changes on the fact that what
would be necessary in the future was in this case just as necessary in
the present, ended with a stirring exhortation and the emphatic words:
“Do it now, Mr. President.”
In spite of Colonel Roosevelt’s strong plea that we should take our
stand shoulder to shoulder on the side of the Allies in the great cause
for which they were fighting, it must not be thought for one moment
that Theodore Roosevelt put internationalism above nationalism. All
through the exciting campaign of 1916, he laid the greatest emphasis
upon true Americanism. At Lewiston, Maine, in August, 1916, he said:
“I demand as a matter of right that every citizen voting this year
shall consider the question at issue, from the standpoint of America
and not from the standpoint of any other nation.... The policy of
the United States must be shaped to a view of two conditions only.
First--with a view of the honor and interest of the United States, and
second--with a view to the interest of the world as a whole. It is,
therefore, our high and solemn duty, both to prepare our own strength
so as to guarantee our own safety, and also to treat every foreign
nation in every given crisis as its conduct in that crisis demands....
Americanism is a matter of the spirit, of the soul, of the mind; not
of birthplace or creed. We care nothing as to where any man was born
or as to the land from which his forefathers came, so long as he is
whole-heartedly and in good faith an American and nothing else.... The
policies of Americanism and preparedness taken together mean applied
patriotism. Our first duty as citizens of the nation is owed to the
United States, but if we are true to our principles, we must also think
of serving the interests of mankind at large. In addition to serving
our own country, we must shape the policy of our country so as to
secure the cause of international right, righteousness, fair play and
humanity. Our first duty is to protect our own rights; our second, to
stand up for the rights of others.”
The above quotation seems to me to answer indisputably the mistaken
affirmation that “America First” could ever be a selfish slogan.
On October 24, 1916, a letter had been sent, directed to “The Honorable
Theodore Roosevelt, en route, Denver, Colorado.” This missive was
received on the special train from which young Edwin Lewis had just
written to his family the stirring letters which I have quoted above.
It is an interesting fact that the letter which I am about to give was
signed by men the majority of whom had not followed Theodore Roosevelt
on his great crusade for a more progressive spirit in American
politics. Some of them had agreed with him in 1912, but the majority
had felt it their duty to remain inside of the political party to which
they had given their earlier faith. Now, in the moment of the great
crisis of our nation, these very men turned for leadership to the man
whom they realized was in truth the “noblest Roman of them all.” The
communication ran as follows:
“It is our conviction that no other Presidential campaign in the
history of the nation ever presented graver issues or more far-reaching
problems than does this. Not only is the domestic welfare of the nation
profoundly to be affected by the result, but the honor and the very
safety of the Republic are at stake.... In this momentous hour, the
vital need is for such a presentation of the issues as will arrest the
widest attention and carry the clearest message to the public mind, and
this task we commend to your hands. No living American has a greater
audience. You have done memorable service to your country in awakening
it to a sense of its perils and obligations and you have revealed
an unselfish patriotism that makes your voice singularly potent in
councils and inspiration. Will you not lend it to the cause once more
by addressing the people of the nation from a vantage ground of a great
mass meeting in the metropolis? Under these circumstances, a message
from Theodore Roosevelt on America’s crisis would ring from coast to
coast.... The undersigned suggest Cooper Union as the place....”
The signatures included many of the most distinguished citizens of
the various States of America. My brother accepted this call to duty,
although he had hoped to speak but little after his exhausting campaign
in the West. I regret to say that I was not present at that meeting,
at which, from what I have heard, he spoke with a conviction and a
spiritual intensity rare even in him. The speech was called “The Soul
of the Nation.”
With burning words Theodore Roosevelt tried to arouse the nation’s
soul; with phrases hot from a heart on fire he portrayed the place we
should take by the side of the countries who were fighting for the hope
of the world, but the ears of the people were closed to all but the
words that we had been kept “out of war.” The day of the Lord was not
yet at hand.
XVII.
WAR
Thou gavest to party strife the epic note,
And to debate the thunder of the Lord;
To meanest issues fire of the Most High.
Hence eyes that ne’er beheld thee now are dim,
And alien men on alien shores lament.
--Stephen Phillips on Gladstone.
Election Day, 1916, dawned with the apparent success of the Republican
party at the polls, but it eventually proved that the slogan, “He kept
us out of war,” had had its way, and that the Democrats were returned
to power.
Needless to say, the disappointment both to the followers of Charles
E. Hughes and of Theodore Roosevelt was keen beyond words. My brother,
however, following his usual philosophy, set himself to work harder
than ever to arouse his countrymen to the true appreciation of the fact
that, with Europe aflame, America could hardly long remain out of the
conflagration.