Now, Ed out of the mayor’s office would have been a liberation for me. Rose had the Kelly kids well in hand. Nothing to stop me from heading over to Ireland and finding Peter Keeley’s grave. But Ed deserved better than to be tossed to the side.
“Pat,” Ed said. “I inherited that fire. None of our family would be alive today if not for the courage and passion of our granny Honora. Am I right, Nonie?” he asked.
“You are, Ed,” I said.
“What’s fighting an election compared to running for your life from starvation and oppression? We’re Irish, Pat. We defeated the greatest empire in the world. I’ll get the nomination, then I’ll wipe the floor with Big Bill Thompson. I can’t wait.”
“Good on you, Ed,” Pat said. “I’ll call Farley and tell him the Cook County Democratic Party is backing Ed Kelly in the primary.”
“No. I’ll call Farley,” Ed said. “And then I’ll speak to the president himself.”
“Good, Ed,” I said. “You tell him off!”
“Not at all, Nonie,” he said. “Don’t we Kellys also have a talent for blarney? By the time I finish, Franklin Delano Roosevelt will be begging me to run.”
And he was.
Edward J. Kelly won the Democratic primary on February 25, 1935—and the next day he took the train to Washington.
* * *
Now you’d think Ed would have been angry with the president for trying to supplant him, but really the whole incident only solidified Ed’s support for Roosevelt.
“It takes a great man to change his mind,” Ed told me after he saw the president. “And really, the president said, it was Mrs. Roosevelt who’d been pushing Merriam because of his commitment to helping the poor, especially Negroes.”
Roosevelt, perhaps to make up for stabbing Ed in the back, agreed to approve a twenty-million-dollar plan to build a permanent exposition center on the site of the Century of Progress, which meant thirty thousand jobs. He also promised enough federal money to cover projects that included a subway, which would link downtown to the rest of the city and could put another one hundred thousand people to work.
Ed announced this windfall in the speech that opened his campaign. He explained that he was running for mayor to continue Chicago’s economic recovery, which was all due to the New Deal.
“Roosevelt is my religion,” he said to the packed city council chamber. Even the Republican aldermen cheered him, and their floor leader told the Tribune that there never had been a mayor who presided more impartially over the council than Ed Kelly did.
Thompson got the message and decided not to run for mayor. The only Republican willing to accept his party’s nomination was a man called Emil Wetten, a fellow no one knew.
“We’re away in a hack,” Pat Nash said. A very different atmosphere in the office today. I had just finished taking photographs of Ed for a campaign poster. He had settled on a slogan, “Retain Mayor Kelly.” Not snappy but informative, I thought.
Ed had gotten such a big vote in the primary that Pat suggested a very quiet campaign. All the newspapers had promised to endorse Ed, and the unions were with him also. So were the State Street merchants. Better not to spend money on rallies he didn’t really need. After all it was still the Depression.
“I’d like to reach out to the Negro community,” Ed said. “They voted for Roosevelt. They should support us. I told the president that no one was poorer than we had been and the Irish know what it’s like to be discriminated against. We’ve more in common with colored people than men like Merriam who’ve never had to worry about where their next meal was coming from.”
“Forget it, Ed. Cermak put the kibosh on any chance of winning those votes when he cracked down on the policy wheels,” Pat Nash said.
“That was so stupid,” Ed said. Cermak wanted to appear to be closing down gambling in the city but he had concentrated on the South and West Side numbers rackets in the Negro community. Hundreds of runners collected nickel-and-dime bets on a combination of numbers that were selected every day. Where once a wheel had been spun to choose the winners, now they were picked from a revolving canister. People hit their numbers with enough frequency to keep them playing and make it profitable for those running the racket. Cermak had the police arrest both the players and the bosses, none of whom were convicted. But this stirred up a great deal of resentment among members of the Negro community for whom playing the numbers was a part of everyday life. The police had not been gentle and people had been hurt. Ed had stopped the raids but the bad feelings continued.
“William Dawson would be the man to talk to,” Pat Nash said. “The Second Ward has the biggest Negro population and he was elected alderman there with a big vote. But he’s a staunch Republican and I noticed that he did not cheer your speech in the city council.”
“But surely we know somebody that could set up a meeting,” Ed said.
“What about Mr. Abbott at the Defender?” I said.
“The paper publishes Nora’s photographs,” Ed said. He turned to me. “Great idea.”
Of course Ed knew Abbott too. The man had been editing and publishing one of the main Negro newspapers in the country for decades, but still Ed was grateful to me for making the initial phone call. Then he took over.
“Alright,” Ed said after he finished his conversation with Abbott. “He’ll set up the meeting with Dawson. Interesting man that Abbott. He told me that both his parents had been slaves in the Sea Islands off Georgia. After his father died, his mother married a German sea captain named Sengstacke who took them to live in Germany. Robert Abbot uses Sengstacke as his middle name, and the nephew he’s grooming to take over is called John Sengstacke. Quite a story. He told me Dawson’s family is also from Georgia.”
Now this would have been the time to tell Ed that Margaret and I had met Dawson in Paris. But what if Dawson had completely forgotten about that chance encounter? Still I was glad when Ed invited me to come to his meeting with Dawson.
“If he agrees to support me, you can take a photograph of us and give it to the Defender. If they publish it, I’ll send a copy to Mrs. Roosevelt,” Ed said.
We got into Ed’s city car and the driver headed south on the drive toward William Dawson’s office. It was rare for me to have a moment alone with Ed, so I had to ask him, “When you’re with the president, do you ever talk about Miami and the assassination?” I asked.
“Never. In fact, Roosevelt’s secretary, Missy LeHand, specifically told me never to mention that night to him,” Ed said.
“LeHand,” I said. “Sounds like one of ours.”
“Yes,” Ed said. “She’s Irish and so is her assistant, Grace Tully.”
Roosevelt is smart enough to find two Irish Catholic women to devote themselves to him, I thought.
“But, what about the FBI investigation? Are they satisfied that Zangara acted alone?”
“Must be,” Ed said.
“It always bothered me,” I said, “that Zangara was tried, convicted, and executed within thirty days. I don’t think he understood half of what was going on.”
“Forget it, Nonie,” Ed said. “He was just another misfit who got his hand on a gun like that fellow who killed Mayor Harrison. Easier to believe there was some grand conspiracy at work in these things. Harder to accept that one pathetic lunatic could have destroyed Roosevelt.”
Move closer, I thought.
But now we were at William Dawson’s law office which was a storefront on Wabash. A waiting room took up the whole front and every one of the twenty or so chairs was filled—men in suits, women with hats and gloves. Going to see a lawyer was serious business.
The receptionist sat at a desk in front of a wooden door with a frosted glass insert. Gold letters spelled out “William Levi Dawson, Esquire, Attorney at Law, Alderman Second Ward, Republican Committeeman, First Congressional District of Illinois.”
She recognized Ed and stood up to greet us.
“Mr. Mayor,” she said, “we were expecting you but you’re ea
rly. Mr. Dawson is in with a client.”
She was about my age and I’d say her suit came from the special collection at Fields—a mustard color that complemented her skin and hair.
“We’re happy to wait,” Ed said.
Now the other people waiting realized who was standing at her desk. One woman approached him.
“My name is Mrs. Doyle, Your Honor, and I’ve been a Republican all my life but I voted for Franklin Roosevelt. The next time you see him please tell him we appreciate all he’s doing for people who need help. But there are still WPA projects that discriminate against colored people and I think he’d want to know.”
“Of course he would, Mrs. Doyle,” Ed answered. He saw that the others were listening.
“Franklin Roosevelt is my religion and I believe in the New Deal with all my heart, but there are many in this country who still harbor deep prejudices. When we Irish came to America we found signs saying ‘No Irish Need Apply’ on factory gates and printed in the newspapers.”
And now some of the other people were listening and nodding.
“We know what that’s like,” one man said.
“I’ll speak to the president and I myself will make sure that any company that applies for WPA funding for projects in the city agrees not to discriminate,” Ed said.
“Well said, Mr. Mayor,” William Dawson said. He stood as straight as that young lieutenant had all those years ago. Gray in his hair and maybe a few more pounds on his tall frame but he was still a good-looking man. I’d looked up the entry on him in the City Council Directory. He’d been born in 1886, so he was forty-eight, a few years younger than Ed or me. He’d attended Northwestern University Law School, and had been a practicing attorney for all these years.
Ed introduced me as his photographer and told Dawson that he hoped the two of them could pose for a picture together after their meeting.
“We’ll see,” Dawson said and led Ed into his office.
In less than a half an hour, Ed and Dawson were smiling into my camera. The deal had been done. I’ll get the details on the ride home, I thought. But both men looked very satisfied.
“Thanks for coming down, Ed,” Dawson said.
“You’re welcome, Bill,” Ed said.
They were on a first name basis now.
“I’d like to hold a rally for you in the Ward,” Dawson said. “Let’s fix a date.”
“No rallies, Bill,” Ed said. “Too many people are still suffering.”
“Not sure about that, Ed,” Dawson said. “Look at how they flock to the Fair. Sometimes a little diversion helps. One thing about Big Bill, he was entertaining.”
And then Dawson sang a few bars of “Big Bill the Builder.”
“Oh, no,” I blurted out. Just hearing that made my skin crawl.
Dawson laughed and started to sing again only this time it was “How Ya Gonna Keep ’Em Down on the Farm After They’ve Seen Paree.”
“So you do know,” I said. “I wasn’t sure if you remember meeting us in Paris.”
“I do,” Dawson said.
“And the other woman who was with me that day is Margaret Kelly, the mayor’s wife.”
“Quite a coincidence,” Dawson said. “It makes me think, Ed, that you and I were fated to work together. Anything I can do, let me know, but you do need a theme song. What would Roosevelt have done without ‘Happy Days Are Here Again’?”
I had to speak up.
“Well, Nora Bayes had another big hit that might work really well,” I said. “It was about a girl looking for her boyfriend but we could change the context into the people of Chicago looking for a champion.”
I cleared my throat and began:
Has anybody here seen Kelly?
K-E-double-L-Y.
Has anybody here seen Kelly?
Have you seen him smile?
Oh, his hair is red and his eyes are blue
And he’s Irish through and through.
Has anybody here seen Kelly?
Kelly from the Emerald Isle
All of Dawson’s clients and staff applauded. They made me sing it again and this time they joined in.
“That’s it, Ed. You’re a sure thing,” Dawson said as we left.
“Quite an afternoon,” Ed said to me as we rode home. “An alliance and a campaign song. Dawson said he can’t change his party affiliation officially until his term as alderman is up but then he’ll announce that he’s joined the Democratic Party and I will nominate him as a candidate for Congress. He’ll be the most qualified man we’ve ever run and he’ll win.”
“And so will you,” I said.
Ed smiled but didn’t reply. A few minutes later, I saw that he’d taken his medal out and was rubbing it.
Praying, I thought. Good idea. And I said Hail Marys all the way back to the apartment.
“Be sure to tell Margaret that Dawson remembers us. That’s a good omen,” I said.
But signs, wonders, and even the Blessed Mother herself could not have prepared Ed for the dimensions of his victory. Edward J. Kelly was elected mayor by the largest majority in the history of the city. He got 799,060 votes, a number I remember because he put it on the license plate of his car. He carried all fifty Wards with 80 percent of the total vote. The Democratic Party increased its share in the Negro Wards by 60 percent.
“God bless Abraham Lincoln,” Dawson said at Ed’s victory celebration. “May he rest in peace, but I’d say we’re Democrats now.”
Depression or no Depression, we had what Ed called a helluva party. And believe me, everybody was singing, “Has anybody here seen Kelly?”
“I’m right here,” Ed said in his speech, “and I am Irish through and through. I dedicate this victory to all our ancestors. We’re alive because of them. Thank you, Honora Keeley Kelly.”
* * *
So. What Pat Nash called “Ed’s plurality” changed his relationship with FDR. Made him somehow equal. Chicago delivered the goods again during FDR’s campaign in 1936. The President won a second term in a landslide with a big increase in the Negro vote, and Dawson formally became a Democrat. Ed’s trips to Washington became more frequent.
“Hard to believe it, Nonie, but the president actually values my advice,” Ed told me when he returned from one of these trips in September 1937.
“I’d say he needs all the help he can get,” I said.
The world was falling apart. Ireland seemed very far away. No thought of traveling there now.
13
OCTOBER 1937
“You must tell the president Hitler is the Devil, Ed,” Milton Goldman said. “First he’ll murder all the Jews and then destroy the world.”
Goldman had come to the mayor’s office with his brother who’d recently arrived from Germany thanks to the visa Ed had arranged for him and his family. I was there to photograph the three of them, but Milton had lost the run of himself. He kept shouting at Ed, “Hitler must be stopped. America must act now.” The brother was nodding. His whole body moving back and forth.
“Easy, Milton. Easy. You have to understand the president’s position. Hitler was democratically elected,” Ed said. “Most of the country thinks we’ve got no business getting involved with Europe. Congress has passed two neutrality acts. By law Roosevelt cannot intervene. Nobody wants a repeat of the Great War.”
“But Ed,” Goldman said, “my brother says the German Army has been tripled. Hitler has bought off the people with jobs and a promise to make Germany great again. It’s like Mussolini getting the trains to run on time. Ignorant people are blinding themselves to the real threat.”
“Some smart people, too,” Ed said. “Colonel McCormick brought Charles Lindbergh into my office the other day. They’re starting this America First Committee to keep us out of war. They wanted me to join.”
“No, Ed,” Goldman said, “you can’t.”
“I told them I’d think about it, but I think you’re right, Milton. Bullies like Hitler and Mussolini don’t ever have enough. Roose
velt knows that. It’s just that his hands are tied.”
“But the president must speak up,” Goldman said.
“He will,” Ed answered.
“When?” Goldman asked.
“Soon,” Ed said. “Right here in Chicago. You and your brother will have front row seats.”
The Outer Drive had finally been completed. A bridge connected South Shore Drive to the northern portion of the highway. One unbroken Lake Shore Drive. A great achievement because Chicago was a divided city. The North and South Sides didn’t even support the same baseball team. If you’d been born south of State Street, you rooted for the White Sox; if you came from the North Side, you were a Cubs fan. Only an accident of birth but a mark of difference nonetheless. But now the bridge would be tangible proof that the city could become one.
When Ed pointed out to Roosevelt that the bridge had been built with money from the New Deal, the president agreed to come for the opening ceremonies. I don’t think even Ed knew that FDR would deliver what would come to be called his “Quarantine Speech.”
A gorgeous fall day. Ed stood in the center on the stage, surrounded by every important person in the city. The Goldmans were in the front row as promised.
Ed’s introduction was full of praise for the president. He concluded by saying, “He is your hero and mine. The man who taught us not to fear, who led us from darkness into light, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt.”
President Roosevelt moved haltingly to the podium on the arm of a Secret Service agent. He took Ed’s hand. I got a great photograph of the two men together. Ed stepped back and the president began to speak.
He started in the most conventional fashion.
“I am glad to come once again to Chicago. And especially to have the opportunity of taking part in this important project of civic government. On my trip across our country I have been shown many evidences of the results of common sense cooperation between municipalities and the federal government. And I have been greeted by tens of thousands of Americans who have told me in every look and word that their material and spiritual well-being has made great strides forward in the past few years.”
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