Presciently, The Guardian added: “Tammany doesn’t like backing losers.”
Fielding President Hoover again, the Republicans sounded gleeful. Their New York leaders felt that Walker’s resignation deprived Roosevelt of the chance to remove the mayor and emerge as a courageous personality. They believed that Roosevelt thus lost some of his glamour with voters in the western and midwestern states, where Tammany was a byword for corruption. The Republicans also believed that the mayor’s claim of not getting a fair hearing would harm Roosevelt with voters who still cherished Jimmy Walker’s image.
It was clearly Walker’s intention to run again in the special election to be held in November because of his resignation. (The regular mayoral election would have been in 1933, an off year.) Under the rules of succession, aldermanic president McKee would be acting mayor until a new mayor was sworn in, in 1933.
This did not necessarily please Tammany leaders John Curry of Manhattan and John McCooey of Brooklyn, because McKee was the choice of another boss, Ed Flynn of the Bronx, who, in turn, was a Roosevelt confidant and booster. What’s more, McKee had fought for Roosevelt at the Chicago convention while the Tammany regulars, and Walker, were making a futile attempt to nominate Al Smith. McKee was from the Bronx, and his selection as president of the Board of Aldermen was due largely to Flynn’s influence. Flynn was no fan of the resigned mayor: “Under Walker we had perhaps the worst example of the spoils system that could be imagined,” he later observed.
Walker’s immediate aim was to create a large enough groundswell of public support that the Tammany leaders could not ignore him even if he had embarrassed them. Despite the exposure of his financial shenanigans, Walker wanted to test his popularity with the electorate once again.
“My case is in the hands of the people of New York,” he confided to a small group of trusted reporters. “I am not going to urge my case. All the effort I have made to help New York City is reciprocated in thousands of messages I’ve received from as far west as the States of Washington and California. They express support for my contention that I have not had a fair trial. My record as Mayor is all I have to offer. The Democratic party and the people have my case. I am not going to urge them one way or the other. I want their frank and definite judgment. I want the fellow in the street—the man and woman in the street—to decide it. My record, which is without any distinction in race, color or creed, must be judged by the people themselves.”
For Governor Roosevelt, the mayor’s decision to run again was more than bizarre; it could be an impediment on the road to the White House. If Roosevelt and Walker were on the same Democratic line in November, it would confuse New York voters, especially if there was an attractive independent alternative candidate on the ballot who might cause voters to split the ticket.
“The prospect that James J. Walker’s candidacy for Mayor this fall will cause a Democratic feud even greater than those which existed when Samuel J. Tilden and Grover Cleveland were running for President has made it doubtful that Governor Roosevelt, the Democratic nominee for President, can carry New York State,” wrote James A. Hagerty, the canny New York Times political correspondent. “The result could be that he may lose the Presidency entirely on the Walker issue unless something can be done to bring Tammany his support.” (Both Tilden and Cleveland served as New York governors and fought against the excesses of Tammany Hall.)
Walker and his allies mobilized some of his steady supporters to show that he still had some of “the people” on his side. Among them was Joseph P. Ryan, president of the Central Trades and Labor Council, who was able to bring out crowds for Walker at political rallies. “The labor movement in the City of New York regrets that political expediency has deprived them of a Mayor whose every official act has been in conformity with the Americanistic policies of organized labor,” Ryan said. “We realize that you have taken the only step possible to protect yourself. We will welcome the opportunity to assist you in every possible way to see that you are restored to your former post.”
Much would depend on which way the old Tammany wheelhorses moved. Despite all the evidence of Walker’s “beneficences,” did they still stand behind him? Certainly Tammany leaders had reason to seek revenge against Governor Roosevelt. And earlier Seabury investigations had put a damper on Tammany’s business climate. In addition to giving Walker a third crack at the mayoralty, another way to wreak vengeance was by refusing to nominate Lieutenant Governor Lehman, Roosevelt’s choice to succeed him.
Ethnicity always remained a factor in any New York election. The Sachems knew that if Lehman was chosen to head the state ticket, his appeal to the city’s Jewish voters would go far toward overriding any action Tammany took to punish Roosevelt for Jimmy Walker’s resignation.
Tammany had a lot at stake. The mayoralty was its key point of entry into the patronage chain. The mayor could name magistrates and fill courtroom posts; commissionerships and hundreds of jobs in all the city departments were up for grabs. Many were appointive rather than civil service positions. The mayor didn’t rule the city when he took orders from Tammany’s boss—but the boss couldn’t run the city without a compliant mayor. Tammany had to decide whether it needed F.D.R. more than he needed it.
There was talk of harming Governor Roosevelt by deposing Jim Farley, national chairman of the Democratic party, from his post as chairman of the New York State party committee. Farley, as everyone on the scene knew, had been instrumental in gaining Roosevelt the presidential nomination and had strong connections to Democratic leaders all over the country.
The decision whether to support Walker, depose Farley, and unhinge Roosevelt’s campaign would be made by three men: Curry, the Tammany boss in Manhattan; McCooey, the Brooklyn boss; and their ally Edward J. O’Connell, the Albany boss.
The Roosevelt forces now showed genuine fear about gaining their own state’s forty-seven electoral votes. The pros cherished an old but fairly accurate political maxim, one dating from before the pollsters and bean counters of later years told candidates how to think and talk about the issues. It went: To win New York State, a Democratic candidate must have at least 750,000 votes “leaving the Bronx” (meaning all of New York City and Long Island), or he could not overcome the upstate voters who invariably favored the Republicans.
For the rest of September and early October, Roosevelt planned to make a train trip covering twenty-three states. Despite his physical infirmity, he decided against sitting at home as a back-porch candidate. F.D.R. had already begun his “fireside chats” over the radio while governor, but he wanted to speak to the people by personal appearances.
An influential voice of support soon came from William Randolph Hearst, in a signed editorial in his New York American:
WALKER’S UNJUSTIFIABLE ATTACK ON ROOSEVELT
“Jimmy Walker is not an evil person. He is merely an irresponsible one. He is irresponsible in his personal behavior, which is deplorable, but apparently not unforgivable in the eyes of his fellow-citizens,” Hearst wrote. The editorial ended by saying that the Hearst papers were “sincere and devoted supporters” of Governor Roosevelt and, furthermore, that any possible support for Walker depended on a “change in his attitude” toward the governor. Once again, “the Chief” was trying to unify the Democrats and add to his own strength as a national force in publishing.
That viewpoint put Jimmy Walker on the spot; in effect, it asked him to retract what he had written in anger after resigning. It also threw down the gauntlet to the Tammany Sachems, warning them that support of Walker for mayor and hostility to the Roosevelt candidacy would lose them the support of the Hearst press and its readership. That was a message the Manhattan and Brooklyn bosses had to ponder.
In the world of Democratic politics, it was interpreted as another good sign for F.D.R. when Mayor James Curley of Boston went on a national speaking tour in behalf of the Roosevelt candidacy. Curley, a close ally of the Kennedys of Massachusetts, had been an original Roosevelt backer at the presidential
convention. He was indebted to Joseph P. Kennedy, one of F.D.R.’s financial supporters. Curley was as strong a boss among Irish voters in Boston as his Tammany counterparts in New York City.
Even in 1932, long before the federal government became a power-house in city as well as national affairs, mayors and other local officials wanted a friend in the White House. Curley’s motives were simple. The Boston boss saw Roosevelt as a political comer whom he could use to advance his own ambitions to win the governorship of Massachusetts. Roosevelt’s oldest son, James, had gone into the insurance business in Boston and was eager to dabble in politics. Curley established a solid alliance with him, which pleased F.D.R. Curley had nothing at stake in Manhattan, except the enmity of Walker and Al Smith.
For once, Walker lapsed into momentary silence with the press, describing himself as “Private Citizen Jimmy.” He left his Mayfair Hotel apartment and went to the Larchmont home of his friend A. C. Blumenthal, for the Labor Day weekend. Dr. Schroeder said that the ex-mayor was exhausted; as usual, he could be counted upon to recommend that his patient go away for a nice rest. Walker had given his personal doctor the lucrative post as administrator of the Sanitation Department.
Asked if his $100,000-a-year offer to Walker to help him in the management of the Florenz Ziegfeld theatrical enterprises still held good, Blumenthal said he would be glad to have his assistance at any time. “But don’t forget that he’s going to run again and be vindicated,” the showman said. “He got a dirty deal and I told him all along he should have resigned instead of tolerating it from the Governor.”
In a lighthearted sidewalk interview after a weekend at the Blumenthal estate, Walker told reporters: “I am trying to give an imitation of being a private citizen, but you fellows won’t let me. You boys have had enough quotes from me in the last few days. In Paris, when I was there, they called me God’s gift to the newspapermen. I feel like it now, but I have nothing to say at the moment. I didn’t want to go away before, but I want to take a vacation as soon as I can.”
With no fresh news about Walker’s plans, the reporters were reduced to describing his wardrobe. They wrote that he was dressed in one of his seventy-five suits—a gray checked number with a white silk shirt and a black necktie. In other less than stop-press news, six suits that Mayor Walker had kept in his auxiliary wardrobe at City Hall “for emergencies” were shipped back to his suite at the Mayfair. While in his suite, reported the august Times on page one, he wore blue-flowered silk pajamas.
Only hours after Governor Roosevelt declared the hearings over, Judge Seabury and his wife took their first vacation in more than two years. He and Maud hastily packed their steamer trunks and embarked on the French liner Paris for a month on the Continent and in England where, as in the past, he would search for English common-law first editions in old bookstores.
“No intelligent person will be misled by the Mayor’s attempt to substitute for a defense an assault upon the good faith and motives of the legally constituted authorities to review his acts while in office,” Seabury said at dockside. “The elimination of Mr. Walker as Mayor of this city is a distinct victory for higher standards of public life, and in the elevation of this standard Governor Roosevelt did much to contribute by the manner in which he conducted the hearings.”
Roosevelt, who had a long memory, did not return the compliment.
On September 10, 1932, eight days after resigning, Jimmy Walker sailed for Europe on the Italian liner Conte Grande, saying he planned to visit Paris. Accompanying Walker were his secretary, George Collins; a valet; and a dog. Waiting for him was Betty. Walker promised to be back in New York for the convention of the city’s Democratic delegates at Madison Square Garden on October 6, 1932. At that time, Walker said, he would offer himself as a candidate for renomination in the special mayoral election on November 8,1932.
It was not to be.
On October 4, Walker embarked on the German liner Bremen for the trip home—obviously too late to attend the nominating convention. He was at sea in more ways than one when it opened. Walker cabled a message to the chairman, who read it to the convention delegates:
I CANNOT SEE HOW I COULD CAMPAIGN WITHOUT DAILY REMINDING THE PUBLIC OF THE UNFAIR NATURE OF THE HEARINGS CONDUCTED BY THE GOVERNOR. THIS IN MY OPINION WOULD DO THE DEMOCRATIC PARTY NO GOOD. MUCH AS I FEEL AGGRIEVED BY THE TREATMENT I HAVE RECEIVED, I AM NOT ONE OF THOSE WHO THINK HE IS BIGGER THAN THE PARTY. I REQUEST THAT MY NAME BE WITHHELD FROM THE CONVENTION.
Walker’s name had already been put in nomination, but it was quickly withdrawn. This was not his decision alone to make; behind the scenes, others were deciding his fate.
While he was in Europe, the Tammany leaders had lapsed into ominous silence. There was a realistic reason for their hesitation. Word had reached Curry and McCooey that Al Smith, still the most powerful influence among Catholic voters in New York City, would not go out of his way to support Walker for mayor. Furthermore, the bosses were aware that if they renominated Walker, Governor Roosevelt would not appear on the same podium with him. Finally, unsubtle criticism was beginning to come from “the powerhouse”—the bishopric at St. Patrick’s Cathedral on Fifth Avenue—deploring the former mayor’s extramarital wandering and lifestyle.
In short, a Walker candidacy would be opposed in powerful quarters and, though he might still win, Tammany would thereby alienate key supporters and officials in New York, Albany, and Washington.
In a sudden switch before the state convention, Boss Curry ordered the state Democratic Committee to pledge its “active and loyal support” to Governor Roosevelt and his running mate, House Speaker Garner. A resolution urged “the united Democracy of New York State” to help in bringing about their “triumphant election.” No attempt was made to oust Jim Farley, Roosevelt’s chief political operative, from his post as state Democratic chairman, nor to deny the succession to the governor’s chair of Lieutenant Governor Herbert Lehman.
Immediately afterward, Governor Roosevelt invited Curry and McCooey to meet him for a friendly little chat at the Executive Mansion in Albany. The cards were now face up on the table; everybody in the game read them clearly. Jimmy Walker—the knave of hearts—held a losing hand and he was about to be trumped. In order to live and thrive another day, the Tammany bosses had retreated.
THIRTEEN
“Jimmy, you Brightened Up the Joint!”
The 1932 presidential election was now set for a sweeping Democratic victory, but there were still some surprises in store.
Walker had already made some decisions about his personal life. After the Conte Grande docked in Naples, he telephoned Betty in Paris and asked her to meet him in Italy. The two lovers held a warm reunion in the ancient town of Pompeii.
They discussed his chances of obtaining a divorce from Allie; it would be easier, and quieter, to do so in Europe than in New York. Afterward, they would be free to get married; it was only a question of timing. Despite his bold public statements, Walker had not yet made up his mind about attending the special nominating convention. At this point, he was still sure he could be elected again. He promised Betty that after serving out the year to complete his second term, he would retire from office gracefully, and they could wed.
But Betty argued against his running again. She noticed that his health was frail; another year in City Hall, she insisted, would kill him. Walker felt that he owed it to his friends and supporters to offer himself to the electorate one last time. She reminded him that he also owed something to her—time to enjoy a normal life together.
Before he departed for Europe, a friendly reporter had told him, “Everyone is for you, Jim. All the world loves a lover.” Walker corrected him. “You’re mistaken. What the world loves is a winner.”
Walker’s contacts in New York informed him that Tammany’s Sachems had had a change of heart and that he no longer figured in their plans for the mayoralty. Suddenly, the decision had been made for him. He may have been bitter but, like a good party man, he tried not
to show it.
In his place, the Tammany bosses had picked Surrogate Court Judge John P. O’Brien, a loyal hack. He was a prominent Catholic layman who was reported to wear his holy medals even while exercising in a gym suit Among his honors, he was a Knight of the Equestrian Order of the Holy Sepulchre and president of the Friendly Sons of St Patrick. His detractors called him “the wild bull in the china shop” because they could never be quite sure what might issue from his mouth. He could be forgetful on the platform. Once, before a Jewish audience, he praised “that scientist of scientists, Albert Weinstein.” Another time, he told an audience in Harlem, “I may be white but my heart is as black as yours.”
Playing the game, Walker had sent a cordial message from the Bremen to O’Brien. It read: “Perfect nomination. Very happy.”
At dockside in New York, Walker was asked whom he would support in the November election. He replied that he was for the full ticket: O’Brien for mayor, Lehman for governor, Roosevelt for president Then he borrowed a phrase from Al Smith: “I’m still a Democrat, though very still.”
With the full-court press of Tammany, Surrogate O’Brien won the special election. Despite Tammany’s efforts to weaken Acting Mayor McKee by stripping him of his financial powers and killing his plans to put more buses on the streets, he received 260,000 write-in votes against O’Brien. It became clear that something was shaky in Tammany Hall’s grip on the electorate. But you couldn’t prove it by the new mayor. When O’Brien was asked who his police commissioner would be, he replied, “I don’t know—they haven’t told me yet.”
Once Upon a Time in New York Page 24