THE BALTIMORE CONVENTION
At Sea Girt we kept in close touch with our friends at Baltimore, so that
after each ballot the New Jersey candidate was apprised of the result.
During the trying days and nights of the Convention the only eager and
anxious ones in the family group, besides myself, were Mrs. Wilson and the
Wilson girls. The candidate himself indeed seemed to take only perfunctory
interest in what was happening at Baltimore. He never allowed a single
ballot or the changes those ballots reflected to ruffle or disturb him.
Never before was the equable disposition of the man better manifested than
during these trying days. Only once did he show evidences of irritation.
It was upon the receipt of word from Baltimore, carried through the daily
press, that his manager Mr. McCombs was indulging in patronage deals to
secure blocks of delegates. Upon considering this news he immediately
issued a public statement saying that no one was authorized to make any
offer of a Cabinet post for him and that those who had done so were acting
without authority from him. This caused a flurry in the ranks of our
friends in Baltimore and the statement was the subject of heated
discussion between the Governor and Mr. McCombs over the telephone. Of
course, I did not hear what was said at the other end of the wire, but I
remember that the Governor said: "I am sorry, McCombs, but my statement
must stand as I have issued it. There must be no conditions whatever
attached to the nomination." And there the conversation ended. While this
colloquy took place I was seated just outside of the telephone booth. When
the Governor came out he told me of the talk he had had with McCombs, and
that their principal discussion was the attempt by McCombs and his friends
at Baltimore to exact from him a promise that in case of his nomination
William Jennings Bryan should not be named for the post of Secretary of
State; that a great deal in the way of delegates' votes from the Eastern
states depended upon his giving this promise. The Governor then said to
me: "I will not bargain for this office. It would be foolish for me at
this time to decide upon a Cabinet officer, and it would be outrageous to
eliminate anybody from consideration now, particularly Mr. Bryan, who has
rendered such fine service to the party in all seasons."
The candidacy of the New Jersey Governor gained with each ballot--only
slightly, however--but he was the only candidate who showed an increased
vote at each stage of the Convention proceedings. The critical period was
reached on Thursday night. In the early afternoon we had received
intimations from Baltimore that on that night the New York delegation
would throw its support to Champ Clark, and our friends at Baltimore were
afraid that if this purpose was carried out it would result in a stampede
to Clark. We discussed the possibilities of the situation that night after
dinner, but up to ten o'clock, when the Governor retired for the night,
New York was still voting for Harmon. I left the Sea Girt cottage and went
out to the newspaper men's tent to await word from Baltimore. The
telegrapher in charge of the Associated Press wire was a devoted friend
and admirer of the New Jersey candidate. There was no one in the tent but
the telegrapher and myself. Everything was quiet. Suddenly the telegraph
instrument began to register. The operator looked up from the instrument,
and I could tell from his expression that something big was coming. He
took his pad and quickly began to record the message. In a tone of voice
that indicated its seriousness, he read to me the following message: "New
York casts its seventy-six votes for Champ Clark. Great demonstration on."
And then the instrument stopped recording. It looked as if the "jig was
up." Frankly, I almost collapsed at the news. I had been up for many
nights and had had only a few hours' sleep. I left the tent, almost in
despair, about eleven o'clock, and returned to the Sea Girt cottage,
preparatory to going to my home at Avon, New Jersey. As I was leaving the
cottage the Governor appeared at one of the upper windows, clad in his
pajamas, and looking at me in the most serious way, said: "Tumulty, is
there any news from Baltimore?" I replied: "Nothing new, Governor." When
we were breakfasting together the next morning, he laughingly said to me:
"You thought you could fool me last night when I asked if there was any
word from Baltimore; but I could tell from the serious expression on your
face that something had gone wrong." This was about the first evidence of
real interest he had shown in the Baltimore proceedings.
As will be recalled, the thing that prevented Champ Clark from gathering
the full benefit which would have come to him from the casting of the New
York vote in his favour was a question by "Alfalfa Bill" Murray, a
delegate from Oklahoma. He said: "Is this convention going to surrender
its leadership to the Tammany Tiger?" This stemmed the tide toward Mr.
Clark, and changed the whole face of the Convention.
It was evident that on Friday night the deadlock stage of the Convention
had been finally reached. The Wilson vote had risen to 354, and there
remained without perceptible change. It began to look as if the candidacy
of the New Jersey Governor had reached its full strength. The frantic
efforts of the Wilson men to win additional votes were unavailing. Indeed,
Wilson's case appeared to be hopeless. On Saturday morning, McCombs
telephoned Sea Girt and asked for the Governor. The Governor took up the
'phone and for a long time listened intently to what was being said at the
other end. I afterward learned that McCombs had conveyed word to the
Governor that his case was hopeless and that it was useless to continue
the fight, and asked for instructions. Whereupon, the following
conversation took place in my presence: "So, McCombs, you feel it is
hopeless to make further endeavours?" When McCombs asked the Governor if
he would instruct his friends to support Mr. Underwood, Mr. Wilson said:
"No, that would not be fair. I ought not to try to influence my friends in
behalf of another candidate. They have been mighty loyal and kind to me.
Please say to them how greatly I appreciate their generous support and
that they are now free to support any candidate they choose."
In the room at the time of this conversation between McCombs and the New
Jersey Governor sat Mrs. Wilson and myself. When the Governor said to
McCombs, "So you think it is hopeless?" great tears stood in the eyes of
Mrs. Wilson, and as the Governor put down the telephone, she walked over
to him and in the most tender way put her arms around his neck, saying:
"My dear Woodrow, I am sorry, indeed, that you have failed." Looking at
her, with a smile that carried no evidence of the disappointment or
chagrin he felt at the news he had just received, he said: "My dear, of
course I am disappointed, but we must not complain. We must be sportsmen.
After all, it is God's will, and I feel that a great load has been lifted
from my shoulders." With a smile he remarked that this failure would make
it possible for them, when his term as Governor of New Jersey was
completed, to go for a vacation to the English Lake country--a region
loved by them both, where they had previously spent happy summers. Turning
to me, he asked for a pencil and pad and informed me that he would prepare
a message of congratulation to Champ Clark, saying as he left the room:
"Champ Clark will be nominated and I will give you the message in a few
minutes."
I afterward learned that McCombs was about to release the delegates when
Roger Sullivan, who had been informed of McCombs' message to the New
Jersey Governor, rushed over to McCombs and said to him, "Damn you, don't
you do that. Sit steady in the boat."
This is the true story of the occurrence so strangely distorted by Mr.
McCombs in the book he left for publication after his death, wherein he
would make it appear that Governor Wilson had got in a panic and tried to
withdraw from the race; whereas the panic was all in the troubled breast
of Mr. McCombs, a physically frail, morally timid person, constitutionally
unfit for the task of conducting such a fight as was being waged in
Baltimore. More sturdy friends of Governor Wilson at the Convention were
busy trying to brace up the halting manager and persuade him to continue
the fight, even against the desperate odds that faced them. But for these
stronger natures, among whom were old Roger Sullivan of Illinois and W. G.
McAdoo, the battle would have been lost.
The message of congratulation to Champ Clark was prepared and ready to be
put on the wire for transmission to him when the Baltimore Convention
assembled again on Saturday, June 29, 1912. I had argued with the Governor
that despite what McCombs had said to him over the 'phone on the previous
day I felt that there was still a great deal of latent strength in the
Wilson forces in the Convention which was ready to jump into action as
soon as it appeared that Champ Clark's case was hopeless. The first ballot
on Saturday gave weight to my view, for upon that ballot Wilson gained
fifteen or twenty votes, which injected new hope into our forces in the
Convention. From that time on Wilson steadily moved forward, and then came
Bryan's resolutions, opposing any candidate who received the support of
the "privilege-hunting" class, and attempting the expulsion of a certain
Eastern group from the Convention. Pandemonium reigned in the Convention
Hall, but the vote upon the resolutions themselves showed the temper of
the delegates. This made the Clark nomination hopeless. Bryan's role as an
exponent of outraged public opinion and as a master of great conventions
was superbly played. When he finally threw his tremendous influence to
Wilson, the struggle was over. Indiana jumped to Wilson, then Illinois,
and the fight was won. Wilson received the necessary two-third vote and
was proclaimed the candidate.
The progressive element of the Democratic party had triumphed after a
long, stubborn fight by what at first was a minority in the Convention for
enlightened progressivism, with Woodrow Wilson as the standard bearer. To
those like myself far away from the Convention there was the sense of a
great issue at stake at Baltimore. One old gentleman who visited Sea Girt
after the Convention compared the stand of the Liberals in the Convention
to the handful at Thermopylae; others compared their heroic determination
to the struggle of Garibaldi and his troops. To the outside world it was
plain that a great battle for the right was being waged at Baltimore,
under the inspiration of a new leadership. At times it appeared that the
raw Wilson recruits would have to surrender, that they could not withstand
the smashing blows delivered by the trained army which the Conservatives
had mobilized. But they stood firm, for there was in the ranks of the
Liberal group in the Baltimore Convention an unconquerable spirit, akin to
that of the Crusaders, and a leadership of ardent men who were convinced
that they were fighting, not merely for a man but for a principle which
this man symbolized. Among these were men like W. G. McAdoo of New York,
A. Mitchell Palmer, Joseph Guffey, and Vance McCormick of Pennsylvania,
Senator "Billy" Hughes of New Jersey, and Angus McLean of North Carolina.
Although the Wilson forces were largely made up of "new" men, some of whom
had never before been actively interested in politics, comparatively young
men like McAdoo, Palmer, McCormick, McLean, Guffey, and old men like Judge
Westcott of New Jersey, yet they were drawn to the light that had dawned
in New Jersey and were eager and anxious to have that light of inspired
leadership given to the nation. Judge Westcott fired the Convention with
his eloquence and brought showers of applause when he quoted at length
from a speech Mr. Wilson had made when president of Princeton, and for
which he had been hissed, lampooned, and derided by the Princeton
opposition. Judge Westcott said:
Men are known by what they say and do. Men are known by those who hate
them and those who oppose them. Many years ago the great executive of
New Jersey said: "No man is great who thinks himself so, and no man is
good who does not strive to secure the happiness and comfort of
others." This is the secret of his life. This is, in the last
analysis, the explanation of his power. Later, in his memorable effort
to retain high scholarship and simple democracy in Princeton
University, he declared: "The great voice of America does not come
from seats of learning. It comes in a murmur from the hills and woods,
and the farms and factories and the mills, rolling on and gaining
volume until it comes to us from the homes of common men. Do these
murmurs echo in the corridors of our universities? I have not heard
them." A clarion call to the spirit that now moves America. Still
later he shouted: "I will not cry peace so long as social injustice
and political wrong exist in the state of New Jersey." Here is the
very soul of the silent revolution now solidifying sentiment and
purpose in our common country.
Men in the Convention, overwhelmed with the emotion of the great hour and
the vindication of the bold liberal, Woodrow Wilson, bowed their heads and
sobbed aloud. The "amateurs" of that convention had met the onslaughts of
the Old Guard and had won, and thus was brought about, through their
efforts, their courage, and their devotion, the dawn of a new day in the
politics of the nation.