Cowperwood and the Governor
A Public-service-commission law might, ipso facto, have been quietly
passed at this session, if the arbitrary franchise-extending proviso
had not been introduced, and this on the thin excuse that so novel a
change in the working scheme of the state government might bring about
hardship to some. This redounded too obviously to the benefit of one
particular corporation. The newspaper men--as thick as flies about the
halls of the state capitol at Springfield, and essentially watchful and
loyal to their papers--were quick to sense the true state of affairs.
Never were there such hawks as newspapermen. These wretches (employed
by sniveling, mud-snouting newspapers of the opposition) were not only
in the councils of politicians, in the pay of rival corporations, in
the confidence of the governor, in the secrets of the senators and
local representatives, but were here and there in one another's
confidence. A piece of news--a rumor, a dream, a fancy--whispered by
Senator Smith to Senator Jones, or by Representative Smith to
Representative Jones, and confided by him in turn to Charlie White, of
the Globe, or Eddie Burns, of the Democrat, would in turn be
communicated to Robert Hazlitt, of the Press, or Harry Emonds, of the
Transcript.
All at once a disturbing announcement in one or other of the papers, no
one knowing whence it came. Neither Senator Smith nor Senator Jones
had told any one. No word of the confidence imposed in Charlie White
or Eddie Burns had ever been breathed. But there you were--the thing
was in the papers, the storm of inquiry, opinion, opposition was on.
No one knew, no one was to blame, but it was on, and the battle had
henceforth to be fought in the open.
Consider also the governor who presided at this time in the executive
chamber at Springfield. He was a strange, tall, dark, osseous man who,
owing to the brooding, melancholy character of his own disposition, had
a checkered and a somewhat sad career behind him. Born in Sweden, he
had been brought to America as a child, and allowed or compelled to
fight his own way upward under all the grinding aspects of poverty.
Owing to an energetic and indomitable temperament, he had through years
of law practice and public labors of various kinds built up for himself
a following among Chicago Swedes which amounted to adoration. He had
been city tax-collector, city surveyor, district attorney, and for six
or eight years a state circuit judge. In all these capacities he had
manifested a tendency to do the right as he saw it and play
fair--qualities which endeared him to the idealistic. Honest, and with
a hopeless brooding sympathy for the miseries of the poor, he had as
circuit judge, and also as district attorney, rendered various
decisions which had made him very unpopular with the rich and
powerful--decisions in damage cases, fraud cases, railroad claim cases,
where the city or the state was seeking to oust various powerful
railway corporations from possession of property--yards,
water-frontages, and the like, to which they had no just claim. At the
same time the populace, reading the news items of his doings and
hearing him speak on various and sundry occasions, conceived a great
fancy for him. He was primarily soft-hearted, sweet-minded, fiery, a
brilliant orator, a dynamic presence. In addition he was
woman-hungry--a phase which homely, sex-starved intellectuals the world
over will understand, to the shame of a lying age, that because of
quixotic dogma belies its greatest desire, its greatest sorrow, its
greatest joy. All these factors turned an ultra-conservative element
in the community against him, and he was considered dangerous. At the
same time he had by careful economy and investment built up a fair
sized fortune. Recently, however, owing to the craze for sky-scrapers,
he had placed much of his holdings in a somewhat poorly constructed and
therefore unprofitable office building. Because of this error
financial wreck was threatening him. Even now he was knocking at the
doors of large bonding companies for assistance.
This man, in company with the antagonistic financial element and the
newspapers, constituted, as regards Cowperwood's
public-service-commission scheme, a triumvirate of difficulties not
easy to overcome. The newspapers, in due time, catching wind of the
true purport of the plan, ran screaming to their readers with the
horrible intelligence. In the offices of Schryhart, Arneel, Hand, and
Merrill, as well as in other centers of finance, there was considerable
puzzling over the situation, and then a shrewd, intelligent deduction
was made.
"Do you see what he's up to, Hosmer?" inquired Schryhart of Hand. "He
sees that we have him scotched here in Chicago. As things stand now he
can't go into the city council and ask for a franchise for more than
twenty years under the state law, and he can't do that for three or
four years yet, anyhow. His franchises don't expire soon enough. He
knows that by the time they do expire we will have public sentiment
aroused to such a point that no council, however crooked it may be,
will dare to give him what he asks unless he is willing to make a heavy
return to the city. If he does that it will end his scheme of selling
any two hundred million dollars of Union Traction at six per cent. The
market won't back him up. He can't pay twenty per cent. to the city
and give universal transfers and pay six per cent. on two hundred
million dollars, and everybody knows it. He has a fine scheme of
making a cool hundred million out of this. Well, he can't do it. We
must get the newspapers to hammer this legislative scheme of his to
death. When he comes into the local council he must pay twenty or
thirty per cent. of the gross receipts of his roads to the city. He
must give free transfers from every one of his lines to every other
one. Then we have him. I dislike to see socialistic ideas fostered,
but it can't be helped. We have to do it. If we ever get him out of
here we can hush up the newspapers, and the public will forget about
it; at least we can hope so."
In the mean time the governor had heard the whisper of "boodle"--a word
of the day expressive of a corrupt legislative fund. Not at all a
small-minded man, nor involved in the financial campaign being waged
against Cowperwood, nor inclined to be influenced mentally or
emotionally by superheated charges against the latter, he nevertheless
speculated deeply. In a vague way he sensed the dreams of Cowperwood.
The charge of seducing women so frequently made against the
street-railway magnate, so shocking to the yoked conventionalists, did
not disturb him at all. Back of the onward sweep of the generations he
himself sensed the mystic Aphrodite and her magic. He realized that
Cowperwood had traveled fast--that he was pressing to the utmost a
great advantage in the face of great obstacles. At the same time he
knew that the present street-car service of Chicago was by no means
bad. Would he be proving unfaithful to the trust imposed on him by the
great electorate of Illinois if he were to advantage Cowperwood's
cause? Must he not rather in the sight of all men smoke out the
animating causes here--greed, over-weening ambition, colossal
self-interest as opposed to the selflessness of a Christian ideal and
of a democratic theory of government?
Life rises to a high plane of the dramatic, and hence of the artistic,
whenever and wherever in the conflict regarding material possession
there enters a conception of the ideal. It was this that lit forever
the beacon fires of Troy, that thundered eternally in the horses' hoofs
at Arbela and in the guns at Waterloo. Ideals were here at stake--the
dreams of one man as opposed perhaps to the ultimate dreams of a city
or state or nation--the grovelings and wallowings of a democracy
slowly, blindly trying to stagger to its feet. In this
conflict--taking place in an inland cottage-dotted state where men were
clowns and churls, dancing fiddlers at country fairs--were opposed, as
the governor saw it, the ideals of one man and the ideals of men.
Governor Swanson decided after mature deliberation to veto the bill.
Cowperwood, debonair as ever, faithful as ever to his logic and his
conception of individuality, was determined that no stone should be
left unturned that would permit him to triumph, that would carry him
finally to the gorgeous throne of his own construction. Having first
engineered the matter through the legislature by a tortuous process,
fired upon at every step by the press, he next sent various
individuals--state legislators, representatives of the C. W. & I.,
members of outside corporations to see the governor, but Swanson was
adamant. He did not see how he could conscientiously sanction the
bill. Finally, one day, as he was seated in his Chicago business
office--a fateful chamber located in the troublesome building which was
subsequently to wreck his fortune and which was the raison d'etre of a
present period of care and depression--enter the smug, comfortable
presence of Judge Nahum Dickensheets, at present senior counsel of the
North Chicago Street Railway. He was a very mountain of a man
physically--smooth-faced, agreeably clothed, hard and yet ingratiating
of eye, a thinker, a reasoner. Swanson knew much of him by reputation
and otherwise, although personally they were no more than speaking
acquaintances.
"How are you, Governor? I'm glad to see you again. I heard you were
back in Chicago. I see by the morning papers that you have that
Southack public-service bill up before you. I thought I would come
over and have a few words with you about it if you have no objection.
I've been trying to get down to Springfield for the last three weeks to
have a little chat with you before you reached a conclusion one way or
the other. Do you mind if I inquire whether you have decided to veto
it?"
The ex-judge, faintly perfumed, clean and agreeable, carried in his
hand a large-sized black hand-satchel which he put down beside him on
the floor.
"Yes, Judge," replied Swanson, "I've practically decided to veto it. I
can see no practical reason for supporting it. As I look at it now,
it's specious and special, not particularly called for or necessary at
this time."
The governor talked with a slight Swedish accent, intellectual,
individual.
A long, placid, philosophic discussion of all the pros and cons of the
situation followed. The governor was tired, distrait, but ready to
listen in a tolerant way to more argument along a line with which he
was already fully familiar. He knew, of course, that Dickensheets was
counsel for the North Chicago Street Railway Company.
"I'm very glad to have heard what you have to say, Judge," finally
commented the governor. I don't want you to think I haven't given this
matter serious thought--I have. I know most of the things that have
been done down at Springfield. Mr. Cowperwood is an able man; I don't
charge any more against him than I do against twenty other agencies
that are operating down there at this very moment. I know what his
difficulties are. I can hardly be accused of sympathizing with his
enemies, for they certainly do not sympathize with me. I am not even
listening to the newspapers. This is a matter of faith in democracy--a
difference in ideals between myself and many other men. I haven't
vetoed the bill yet. I don't say that something may not arise to make
me sign it. My present intention, unless I hear something much more
favorable in its behalf than I have already heard, is to veto it.
"Governor," said Dickensheets, rising, "let me thank you for your
courtesy. I would be the last person in the world to wish to influence
you outside the line of your private convictions and your personal
sense of fair play. At the same time I have tried to make plain to you
how essential it is, how only fair and right, that this local
street-railway-franchise business should be removed out of the realm of
sentiment, emotion, public passion, envy, buncombe, and all the other
influences that are at work to frustrate and make difficult the work of
Mr. Cowperwood. All envy, I tell you. His enemies are willing to
sacrifice every principle of justice and fair play to see him
eliminated. That sums it up.
"That may all be true," replied Swanson. "Just the same, there is
another principle involved here which you do not seem to see or do not
care to consider--the right of the people under the state constitution
to a consideration, a revaluation, of their contracts at the time and
in the manner agreed upon under the original franchise. What you
propose is sumptuary legislation; it makes null and void an agreement
between the people and the street-railway companies at a time when the
people have a right to expect a full and free consideration of this
matter aside from state legislative influence and control. To persuade
the state legislature, by influence or by any other means, to step in
at this time and interfere is unfair. The propositions involved in
those bills should be referred to the people at the next election for
approval or not, just as they see fit. That is the way this matter
should be arranged. It will not do to come into the legislature and
influence or buy votes, and then expect me to write my signature under
the whole matter as satisfactory."
Swanson was not heated or antipathetic. He was cool, firm,
well-intentioned.
Dickensheets passed his hand over a wide, high temple. He seemed to be
meditating something--some hitherto untried statement or course of
action.
"Well, Governor," he repeated, "I want to thank you, anyhow. You have
been exceedingly kind. By the way, I see you have a large, roomy safe
here." He had picked up the bag he was carrying. "I wonder if I might
leave this here for a day or two in your care? It contains some papers
that I do not wish to carry into the country with me. Would you mind
locking it up in your safe and letting me have it when I send for it?"
"With pleasure," replied the governor.
He took it, placed it in lower storage space, and closed and locked the
door. The two men parted with a genial hand-shake. The governor
returned to his meditations, the judge hurried to catch a car.
About eleven o'clock the next morning Swanson was still working in his
office, worrying greatly over some method whereby he could raise one
hundred thousand dollars to defray interest charges, repairs, and other
payments, on a structure that was by no means meeting expenses and was
hence a drain. At this juncture his office door opened, and his very
youthful office-boy presented him the card of F. A. Cowperwood. The
governor had never seen him before. Cowperwood entered brisk, fresh,
forceful. He was as crisp as a new dollar bill--as clean, sharp,
firmly limned.
"Governor Swanson, I believe?"
"Yes, sir."
The two were scrutinizing each other defensively.
"I am Mr. Cowperwood. I come to have a very few words with you. I will
take very little of your time. I do not wish to go over any of the
arguments that have been gone over before. I am satisfied that you
know all about them."
"Yes, I had a talk with Judge Dickensheets yesterday."
"Just so, Governor. Knowing all that you do, permit me to put one more
matter before you. I know that you are, comparatively, a poor
man--that every dollar you have is at present practically tied in this
building. I know of two places where you have applied for a loan of
one hundred thousand dollars and have been refused because you haven't
sufficient security to offer outside of this building, which is
mortgaged up to its limit as it stands. The men, as you must know, who
are fighting you are fighting me. I am a scoundrel because I am
selfish and ambitious--a materialist. You are not a scoundrel, but a
dangerous person because you are an idealist. Whether you veto this
bill or not, you will never again be elected Governor of Illinois if
the people who are fighting me succeed, as they will succeed, in
fighting you."
Swanson's dark eyes burned illuminatively. He nodded his head in
assent.
"Governor, I have come here this morning to bribe you, if I can. I do
not agree with your ideals; in the last analysis I do not believe that
they will work. I am sure I do not believe in most of the things that
you believe in. Life is different at bottom perhaps from what either
you or I may think. Just the same, as compared with other men, I
sympathize with you. I will loan you that one hundred thousand dollars
and two or three or four hundred thousand dollars more besides if you
wish. You need never pay me a dollar--or you can if you wish. Suit
yourself. In that black bag which Judge Dickensheets brought here
yesterday, and which is in your safe, is three hundred thousand dollars
in cash. He did not have the courage to mention it. Sign the bill and
let me beat the men who are trying to beat me. I will support you in
the future with any amount of money or influence that I can bring to
bear in any political contest you may choose to enter, state or
national."
Cowperwood's eyes glowed like a large, genial collie's. There was a
suggestion of sympathetic appeal in them, rich and deep, and, even more
than that, a philosophic perception of ineffable things. Swanson arose.
"You really don't mean to say that you are trying to bribe me openly,
do you?" he inquired. In spite of a conventional impulse to burst
forth in moralistic denunciation, solemnly phrased, he was compelled
for the moment to see the other man's viewpoint. They were working in
different directions, going different ways, to what ultimate end?
"Mr. Cowperwood," continued the governor, his face a physiognomy out of
Goya, his eye alight with a kind of understanding sympathy, "I suppose
I ought to resent this, but I can't. I see your point of view. I'm
sorry, but I can't help you nor myself. My political belief, my
ideals, compel me to veto this bill; when I forsake these I am done
politically with myself. I may not be elected governor again, but that
does not matter, either. I could use your money, but I won't. I shall
have to bid you good morning."
He moved toward the safe, slowly, opened it, took out the bag and
brought it over.
"You must take that with you," he added.
The two men looked at each other a moment curiously, sadly--the one
with a burden of financial, political, and moral worry on his spirit,
the other with an unconquerable determination not to be worsted even in
defeat.
"Governor," concluded Cowperwood, in the most genial, contented,
undisturbed voice, "you will live to see another legislature pass and
another governor sign some such bill. It will not be done this
session, apparently, but it will be done. I am not through, because my
case is right and fair. Just the same, after you have vetoed the bill,
come and see me, and I will loan you that one hundred thousand if you
want it."
Cowperwood went out. Swanson vetoed the bill. It is on record that
subsequently he borrowed one hundred thousand dollars from Cowperwood
to stay him from ruin.