Coolidge_An American Enigma

by Robert Sobel

  Whatever the answer, the governor who had intervened when the telephone, firemen, and elevated railroad workers struck or seemed on the verge of striking, and who had interceded in the American Woolen strike, said and did nothing in the police matter while the situation unraveled in early September. This was the Coolidge style: Consider the possibilities and probabilities; work out alternative plans of action; prepare to act, but hope it will not be necessary to do so; then, if necessary, act decisively. But why should he have acted at all at that point? Acting-Governor Hart had held back during the Seattle strike, as had other governors in labor disputes. Precedent was on the side of inaction.

  On Monday morning, September 8, true to his word, Curtis suspended (but did not discharge) nineteen union policemen. This was his compromise, though he did not portray it as such to the union.

  That day Coolidge traveled to Greenfield, where he addressed an AFL convention, not saying a word about the situation in Boston, but reiterating his belief in the right of labor to organize and receive fair wages. “Human labor will never again be cheap,” he said, going on to recommend a role in management for workers. “Labor should supply wise suggestions on the future conduct of business and help direct public sentiment.” Early that afternoon Frank Stearns telephoned to urge him to return to Boston. He did, and that evening he dined with Storrow and Peters. These two had devised another compromise: the policemen would be permitted to form an unaffiliated union, and if they promised not to strike, the disciplinary action against the nineteen suspended policemen would be dropped, with all other matters submitted to arbitration. Coolidge, who by then had decided to go all the way with Curtis, rejected the plan. The mayor next asked Coolidge to mobilize the State Guard, but he declined, reiterating his confidence that Curtis could handle the matter.

  Afterward, Storrow wrote to a friend of the Coolidge approach. “Coolidge’s instinct is in the first place to back up the man who has the immediate responsibility, even though his own subordinate…. The police commissioner was sure he had the matter well in hand, could fully control the situation, and so advised the governor.” He concluded, “Coolidge never is quick on the trigger, but he keeps his mind right on the problem, and it is generally more important in public affairs to be right than quick.” This was another trait that Coolidge took along to the White House: Delegate authority to a person whose judgment and abilities you trust, and then let him do his job.

  According to William Allen White, one evening Coolidge had a visitor, “Diamond Jim” Timilty, the Democratic boss of Roxbury Crossing and a union leader who had served with Coolidge in the Massachusetts senate. These two men with strikingly different backgrounds and philosophies liked and respected one another. Timilty often said, “Calvin Coolidge can have anything he wants from me.” The political boss, who had strong connections and influence with the other unions, was there to allay any fears the governor might have regarding the possibility of a general strike. White wrote that years later Timilty told this story to Robert Brady, a reporter for the Boston Post, who related it to him:I just went in to see my little pal and tell him not to worry over all this mush about a general strike. You know, I’m president of the largest labor organization in the state, the city and town laborers’ organization, with the largest membership of any union in Massachusetts. I just told Cal that “we won’t go out,” and we have more votes in the central labor organization than any of the others. You see, Cal’s my kind of guy, and he’s right about those damned cops.

  It is unclear whether this was true, exaggerated, or braggadocio. In any event, Curtis knew nothing about this visit, and that evening he told reporters, “I am ready for anything.” He added a belief—or hope—that relatively few police would walk out, and that those who remained could handle things.

  Coolidge already had information from Adjutant General Jesse Stevens about the availability of State Guard units. Stevens, who had tried to read Coolidge’s mind, called for one mounted squadron to meet at the Commonwealth Armory. Angered, since he instantly realized the action would be inflammatory, Coolidge went to the Armory and dismissed the troops. Meanwhile, the policemen held a meeting at which they voted to strike by a whopping margin of 1,134 to 2, the operation to begin at 5:45 PM the next day, September 9.

  Coolidge’s lack of action did not mean that he hadn’t given the matter a great deal of thought. Curtis had assured him many times that despite the vote, most police would not go out on strike. Even if they did, Curtis seemed quite confident he could handle things. In this case, as in others, the governor would interfere only when he felt it absolutely necessary. Throughout his political life, Coolidge would step aside whenever a plausible individual appeared willing to do what he himself would. That way, if the individual succeeded, Coolidge would have had his victory, be able to share the glory of success, and go on to other things. In case of failure, the other person would be blamed. Though his “inaction” would come to be lampooned by critics, Coolidge calculated his every move—or, more to the point, whether to move.

  Mayor Peters evidently had no plan to deal with the strike. It was different with Coolidge. Perhaps he saw little to be gained from discussions with Peters; after all, he would later say, “I have never been hurt by anything I didn’t say.” French Strother, one of the more perceptive journalists of the time, wrote of Coolidge: “The universal testimony of those who know him is that he is always thinking. Not mind-wandering, casual consciousness, but hard, disciplined, purposeful thinking upon his problems. He is, they say, forever thinking ahead. That is why he is never caught off his guard, never excited when the moment for decision and action comes.”

  His actions at the time and discussions afterward reveal that Coolidge knew exactly what he was doing and trying to accomplish, although he spoke and wrote sparingly about it. His attitude toward the strike was reflected in a completely unrelated matter half a year later, when he vetoed a measure that would have permitted the production of beer, cider, and light wines, in contravention of the Eighteenth Amendment. While somewhat sympathetic to those who opposed Prohibition, Coolidge saw the issue as a matter of law versus lawlessness. “The authority of the law is questioned in these days all too much. The binding obligation of obedience against personal desire is denied in many quarters. If these doctrines prevail all organized governments, all liberty, all security are at an end.” Coolidge then asked the question he might have posed in October 1919: “Can those entrusted with the gravest authority set any example save that of the sternest obedience to law?”

  There were no public opinion polls in those days, but the Boston newspapers generally supported Curtis, though they were clearly fearful of what might happen if and when the police left their posts. Would there be a general strike on the Seattle model? Were the Bolsheviks masterminding the walkout? The Central Labor Union was talking as though a mass walkout was in the works.

  At 5:45 PM, 1,117 of the 1,544 man force walked out wearing their uniforms, after having carefully removed their badges. Nothing untoward happened at first. Then there were reports of rowdyism. Bands of young men roamed through the downtown streets, breaking windows and accosting pedestrians. Some of them broke into a market, stole crates of eggs, and threw their contents at passers-by. A streetcar conductor was shot in the leg.

  Meeting with advisors the next morning, Peters heard rumors that the firemen, telegraph operators, and railroad workers were about to join in a sympathy strike, which would close down the city as had the strike in Seattle. Now the mayor acted decisively. He mobilized the Boston State Guard, and that evening temporarily removed Curtis from control of the Police Department and replaced him with General Charles Cole. Peters also issued a communiqué stating he had received “no cooperation from the police commissioner and no help or practical suggestions from the governor.” In effect, he had assumed command of the opposition to the strike, the only official up to that time willing to take a stand. Reacting swiftly, Curtis went to see Coolidge, and knowing the governor’
s mind, all but demanded he either be removed completely or supported.

  Meanwhile, a hastily assembled volunteer police force, comprised of middle-aged businessmen, students, earnest housewives, and others, was prepared to assist the guard in maintaining order. Francis Russell, who later wrote extensively about the strike, was a boy at the time and witnessed these activities; he thought some of the volunteers believed they represented the Brahmins, taking back control of the city from the Irish.

  There were many more scuffles than the previous night, as well as looting. The newspapers had a field day, conjuring the image of a city in the grips of lawless elements. In fact, the violence was minor and pretty much confined to the Scollay Square section, and involved hundreds, not thousands as the newspapers suggested. But the reports prompted nearby Cambridge to advertise in the Boston newspapers, urging businesses there to consider relocating “where you will be protected by a reliable police force.” Automobile insurance companies ran advertisements notifying policyholders they were not protected against riot damages.

  The stories coming out of Boston, even those in the more sensationalist newspapers, were not particularly frightening, however. Thirty young men went to a restaurant, ordered and ate meals, and then refused to pay the bill; they proceeded to strip the counter of pies and threw them at the help. A gang of south Boston rioters stole a safe from a variety store, dragged it into the street, found it empty, and left it in the middle of the road. Another group stole two barrels of whiskey, opened them up, and then poured drinks from stolen glasses, treating the mob to refreshments. Later on, the City of Boston, held liable for the damages, paid out $34,000 to the businesses involved. There also were acts of brutality. Some guardsmen mounted saber attacks, and others were obliged to use their sidearms. Three deaths resulted.

  By early Thursday morning it appeared not only that the violence was abating, but also that the strikers, who earlier had been convinced of victory and outraged at their treatment, were having some second thoughts. Was it the violence, the opposition of the newspapers, the rising anger of the citizenry, or the belated but firm action taken by Mayor Peters? Might President Wilson’s denunciations of the strikers have had an impact? The president certainly had been forthright on the matter: “A strike of the policemen of a great city, leaving that city at the mercy of an army of thugs, is a crime against civilization.” Yet earlier Wilson had not acted forcefully when the Washington, D.C., police attempted to unionize.

  One thing is fairly certain. Coolidge had done next to nothing to alleviate the distress, much less halt the walkout. On Thursday morning, if anyone came out of the situation with an enhanced reputation, it should surely have been Peters.

  Coolidge learned of Peters’s communiqué on Thursday morning. “I see the mayor has taken a hand in this,” he told some of his associates. Those present said Coolidge was as furious as they had ever seen him. That afternoon he had lunch at the Union Club with Herbert Parker, a former attorney general and current advisor to Commissioner Curtis, and William M. Butler. While Parker was solid and consequential, as the CEO of the Hoosac and Quinsett Mills and the West End Thread Corporation, Butler was even more important. He was a veteran politician who once served as president of the state senate. Butler, who was known as Crane’s “Boston man,” delivered a clear and simple message. The state GOP boss thought that any further disturbances would harm Coolidge politically. As Butler later recalled, “I said that the governor should take over the situation, call out the militia, and also take charge of the police affairs of Boston.” Parker seconded this.

  Only then did Coolidge decide to act. The desire to reap political profits may have been a motivating force, but in addition Coolidge must have felt he could not permit Peters to implement the Storrow Committee recommendations, which included recognition of an independent police union. To him, this would have meant surrender to forces of anarchy and a negation of the concept of the rule of law.

  Coolidge issued a proclamation calling out the State Guard, asking for public support, and assuming control of the Boston police force. To cap things off, he restored Curtis to his post, clearly indicating that the governor intended to treat the strikers harshly. The order to Curtis was in the typical Coolidge terse, clear style:You are hereby directed, for the purpose of assisting me in the performance of my duty, pursuant to the proclamation issued by me this day, to proceed in the performance of your duties as police commissioner of the city of Boston, under my command and in obedience to such orders as I shall issue from time to time, and obey only such orders as I may so issue or transmit.

  James Parker, a Boston attorney quite close to Curtis, was delighted with the development, but he had some sympathy for Peters, and suggested that Coolidge might send a copy of the order to Peters. Coolidge demurred: “Let him find out about it in the papers.” Even so, Peters did receive a copy by messenger.

  The Central Labor Union now realized the strike had been lost, and acted to cut losses. The members voted against a general strike, and behind the scenes police representatives attempted to work out some way they could return to work without penalties. Curtis would have none of this, and he issued an order that none of the men who had failed to report for duty on September 9 could regain their jobs. He added, “Nor are they to remain or loiter on the premises of the different station houses.”

  Now Coolidge took center stage. Meeting with reporters, he called the strike “desertion of duty,” and he indicated complete support for Curtis, whose next step was to declare that the now vacant positions on the force would be filled by new recruits. The Central Labor Union petitioned Coolidge to reconsider and reinstate the strikers, talking vaguely of the possibility of a general strike. Important Boston businessmen who may have feared violence from the dismissed strikers supported this position. When they observed that the strike might cost him his office, Coolidge snapped back, “It is not necessary for me to hold another office.” But Coolidge, having carefully considered his actions, knew that his position was quite popular, and bound to win rather than lose votes.

  AFL head Samuel Gompers, who was in New York attending his father’s funeral, tried to contact Peters and Coolidge, in the hope of swaying them. His letter to the mayor was published in the September 13 newspapers: “No man, or group of men, more genuinely regrets the present Boston situation than does the American Federation of Labor,” it began. “You have undoubtedly been apprized [sic] of President Wilson’s suggestion to the commissioners in the District of Columbia who adopted a similar regulation to the one adopted by the Boston authorities, ordering policemen not to become members of or retain membership in a union affiliated with the American Federation of Labor.” Since Wilson had not dismissed the Washington police, couldn’t Boston do the same? If so, the policemen would be back on their beats, awaiting further discussions.

  The telegram to Coolidge took a different tone. Gompers did not know the governor, nor had he read his statement in the telephone workers’ strike a few months earlier; if he had, he would never have taken the stance he did.

  “The question at issue is not one of law and order,” Gompers wrote on September 13, “but the assumption of an autocratic and unwarranted position by the commissioner of police, who is not responsible to the people of Boston, but who is appointed by you. Whatever disorder has occurred is due to his order in which the right of the policemen had been denied, a right which has heretofore never been questioned.”

  The Gompers telegram provided Coolidge with the opportunity to present his case to the public, at a time when the press clearly supported his efforts. His response was reprinted in newspapers throughout the country and would be recalled during his second race for the governorship and at the Republican Convention in 1920:Replying to your telegram, I have already refused to remove the police commissioner of Boston. I did not appoint him. He can assume no position which the courts would uphold except what the people have by the authority of their law vested in him. He speaks only with their voice.
The right of the police of Boston to affiliate has always been questioned, never granted, [and] is now prohibited. The suggestion of President Wilson to Washington does not apply to Boston. There the police remained on duty. Here the Policemen’s Union left their duty, an action which President Wilson described as a crime against civilization. Your assertion that the commissioner was wrong can not justify the wrong of leaving the city unguarded. That furnished the opportunity; the criminal element furnished the action.

  Then followed the words that captured the public mood of the time, a period when strikes seemed a harbinger of the coming sovi-etization of the United States:There is no right to strike against the public safety by anybody, anywhere, any time.

  Newspapers throughout the nation picked up on that sentence. In New York the mayor and commissioner of police warned the police union that it could expect the same treatment if it called a strike. The New York Times editorialized: “The Boston strike has sharpened the nation’s conception of the strike problem and defined for everyone the line upon which the public must make its fight for self-preservation. We hope the AFL and Mr. Gompers have been equally instructed.” And the New York Herald wrote: “It is fortunate that Massachusetts has a governor who, like its wartime Governor Andrews, has the determination and patriotism to stand firm for the sovereignty and dignity of the commonwealth.” The New York World joined in: “The policemen of Boston could not at once gain what they desired, therefore they turned over their city to thugs and rowdies. The case was an extreme example of childish vindictiveness and selfish spite. Thanks to the courage and plain speech of Governor Coolidge, it has served to clarify the minds of all.”

  No one noticed a signal difference between the actions and words of Coolidge and the by-then-forgotten Ole Hansen. Hansen spoke first and then acted; Coolidge acted and then spoke. Hansen might easily have been embarrassed by the developments that followed his words. Coolidge ran no such risk. Moreover, during a period in which “red-baiting” was quite common, Hansen used inflammatory language. Coolidge never remotely suggested the Boston policemen were inclined toward Bolshevism, something that would have been easy to do and that would have enhanced his popularity. Indeed, he even showed sympathy for the policemen’s plight.