Coolidge_An American Enigma

by Robert Sobel

  There also was a difference between General Wood’s and Governor Coolidge’s actions against strikes. Wood was not dealing with strikes against the public, but rather those aimed at employers. In addition, Wood did not utter a memorable phrase. He was to become a dominant political figure in 1920, but not because of his actions on the strike front.

  In the weeks and months that followed, Coolidge received some seventy thousand letters, telegrams, and other communications praising his stand, many calling upon him to run for national office.2 President Wilson sent his congratulations.

  Other signs pointed to the popularity of his stand. A group calling itself “Defenders of Public Safety,” formed to aid the loyal police and the volunteers, raised more than half a million dollars in a matter of weeks. The liberal New Republic, which had tried to be neutral earlier, now wrote, “In spite of the substantial grievances of the strikers, their proposal to affiliate with the AFL was not compatible with the faithful execution of their regular duties.” The equally liberal Nation, which would be critical of Coolidge throughout the rest of his political career, put a different slant on the performance:Governor Coolidge sat discreetly on the fence until he saw on which side public sentiment was gathering. When this had manifested itself distinctly against the police, and after Boston’s danger had been averted, Governor Coolidge climbed down from the fence on the side with the crowd and issued a proclamation needlessly mobilizing the entire State Guard.

  This wasn’t at all the case. Coolidge would have never supported the strike. Rather, he knew what he wanted to accomplish, and searched for the best means to carry it through. Even so, he had regrets, though they would not be voiced until after he left the White House. In his Autobiography, Coolidge wrote, “To Mr. Curtis should go the credit for raising the issue and enforcing the principle that police should not affiliate with any outside body,” but also conceded that he had waited too long before acting. Nonetheless, to allay any doubts regarding his resoluteness, on September 24, 1919, Coolidge issued a proclamation that indicated he had not budged. This was a curious document, much more belligerent in tone than the others, before or after. The familiar Coolidge cadences are lacking, as is his inherent caution.

  There appears to be a misapprehension as to the position of the police of Boston. In the deliberate intention to intimidate and coerce the government of this commonwealth a large body of policemen, urging all others to join them, deserted their posts of duty, letting in the enemy. This act of theirs was voluntary, against the advice of their well-wishers, long discussed and premeditated, and with the purpose of obstructing the power of the government to protect its citizens or even to maintain its own existence. Its success meant anarchy. By this act, through the operation of the law they dispossessed themselves. They stand as though they had never been appointed.

  Other police remained on duty. They are the real heroes of this crisis. The State Guard responded most efficiently. Thousands have volunteered for the Guard and the Militia. Money has been contributed from every walk of life by the hundreds of thousands for the encouragement and relief of these loyal men. These acts have been spontaneous, significant, and decisive. I propose to support all those who are supporting their own government with every power which the people have entrusted me.

  There is an obligation, inescapable, no less solemn, to resist all those who do not support the government. The authority of the commonwealth cannot be intimidated or coerced. It cannot be compromised. To place the maintenance of the public security in the hands of a body of men who have attempted to destroy it would be to flout the sovereignty of the laws the people have made. It is my duty to resist any such proposal. Those who would counsel it join hands with those whose acts have threatened to destroy the government. There is no middle ground. Every attempt to prevent the formation of a new police force is a blow at the government. That way treason lies. No man has a right to place his own ease or convenience or the opportunity to make money above his duty to the state.

  Commissioner Curtis had no trouble recruiting men to replace the strikers; this was a period of widespread unemployment, and many veterans and others were eager for the jobs. But the strikers continued to hope for reinstatement. On October 15 there was a rally by strikers, their families, and friends, all but pleading for a reconsideration. Three weeks later a Massachusetts judge denied a petition to restore the nineteen leaders to their posts. They continued to work for reinstatement for several years, but eventually gave up.

  Coolidge wrote in his Autobiography: “Later I helped these men in securing other employment,” but they would never again work as policemen in Boston. As it happened, one of the strikers was William F. Regan, who eventually found work on the railroad. William and his wife, Kathleen, were in dire straits, for Kathleen had given birth to their son the previous year. The son, Donald Regan, was to be Ronald Reagan’s secretary of the treasury and later his chief of staff.

  While Coolidge’s actions in the police strike won him the applause of both progressives and conservatives, they were later perceived as being anti-union and even reactionary, which ignores the context of the times. Actually, Coolidge’s attitude toward the police was quite liberal, both by the standards of that time and today, and he spoke out in favor of “a properly compensated police force.” In early 1921, while vice president–elect, Coolidge reviewed Raymond Fosdick’s American Police Systems for the Outlook, and wrote:There is nothing so destructive of our liberties as a misuse of police power. No people will submit to it for long, least of all Americans. The worst thing that could happen would be to have the conviction abroad that police, courts, and the government were more concerned with the protection of property than with the protection of the personal rights of the individual. Under a wise and judicious leadership, a well-trained and properly compensated police force, this danger would not arise. Under a police force which is the sport of political conditions it is likely to arise at any time.

  The police strike was the most important event of Coolidge’s gubernatorial career, but there were other developments as well. Coolidge welcomed President Wilson on his return from the Versailles Peace Conference on February 24, 1919. By then the League of Nations had become a contentious issue in national politics. Crane favored American entry into the League, and so backed the Democratic president, while Henry Cabot Lodge was the leader of the GOP opposition. Thus, the state’s Republican leadership was divided on this important issue. At the time he greeted Wilson, Coolidge seemed to support the League, which would have placed him squarely in Crane’s camp, though he did so in a typically oblique fashion. In greeting Wilson, he said, “We welcome him as the representative of a great people, as a great statesman, as one to whom we have entrusted our destinies, one to whom we are sure we will support in the future in the working out of that destiny, as Massachusetts has supported him in the past.”

  Assistant Secretary of the Navy Franklin D. Roosevelt, who was present at the ceremony, remembered Coolidge as “a diffident little man who no one outside of Massachusetts had then heard of.” He recalled that after this welcome, which was not enthusiastically received, Coolidge extemporized the following:We hail, moreover, a great leader of the world who is earnestly striving to effect an arrangement that will prevent another horrible war. He has gone across the seas to further his purpose. He has given of his strength and energy. I can assure him that, in all of his efforts to promote and preserve the peace of the world, he has the hearty support of the people of Massachusetts.

  A year later Coolidge and Roosevelt were nominated for the vice presidency by the Republican and Democratic parties, respectively, and both would follow Wilson to the White House.

  Most of the press interpreted the Coolidge statement as an endorsement of the League, but Coolidge tried to remain on the fence, not stating a clear opinion one way or the other. When finally pinned down by a reporter, who asked bluntly, “Governor, what do you think of the League?” Coolidge replied:I am the governor of Massachusetts. The st
ate of Massachusetts has no foreign relations. If ever I should hold an office calling for action or opinion on this subject, I shall put my mind on it and try to arrive at the soundest conclusions within my capacity.

  In addition, he had nothing to say about Prohibition, which was scheduled to go into effect in 1920, except that he would uphold the law. He did, however, veto a measure allowing for 2.75 percent alcohol content beer and wine, arguing this violated the Eighteenth Amendment.

  The State Democratic Convention took place on September 23. In their platform, the Democrats asserted: “While we do not condone the policemen who left their posts of duty, we condemn Governor Coolidge for his inaction and culpability in failing to protect the lives and property of the city of Boston.” As expected, the convention nominated Richard Long, who sided with the strikers, saying, “Governor Coolidge has shown himself to be the weakest, most helpless and incompetent governor that our state has ever had.” Long promised to replace Curtis as Boston police commissioner and reinstate the striking policemen. The Central Labor Union came out for Long, as did other unions.

  The Republicans gathered on October 4, and quietly renominated Coolidge and Cox, but the party was not completely united this time. In Washington the battle over the League continued to rage, pitting Crane against Lodge. The GOP platform included a plank endorsing the League, demonstrating the extent of Crane’s power in the state.

  As before, Stearns was there to organize the troops and conduct the publicity campaign for Coolidge. He did not have to raise much money; his total campaign spending came to $2,171.90. Part of the campaign chest was used to print a collection of Coolidge’s speeches, entitled Have Faith in Massachusetts.

  More attention was paid nationally to the Massachusetts elections that November than usual, since as a result of the police strike, Coolidge was being discussed as a potential dark horse presidential candidate. Even so, it was only a blip on the political horizon. Long proved a vigorous campaigner, while Coolidge was a quieter one, in part because he was ill with a severe cold in the early days of the campaign.

  Coolidge won in a landslide, with 317,774 votes to Long’s 192,673, the greatest electoral victory in the state’s history. Long took Boston, the most Democratic city in Massachusetts, by a margin of only five thousand votes. Of the state’s thirty-seven cities, Coolidge lost only two others besides Boston.

  Congratulations came from all quarters—from Charles Evans Hughes and Warren Harding, among others. President Wilson telegraphed his felicitations. “I congratulate you upon your election as a victory for law and order. When that is the issue all Americans stand together.” In his victory speech, Coolidge acknowledged that more than anything else, the election had been a plebiscite on his actions during the police strike.

  The attempt to appeal to class prejudice had failed. The men of Massachusetts are not labor men, or policemen, or union men, or poor men, or rich men. They are Americans first…. They are for the government. American institutions are safe in their hands…. Massachusetts is American. The election will be a welcome demonstration to the nation and to people everywhere who believe that liberty can only be secured by obedience to law.

  Coolidge carried out his duties during his second term as governor with the national spotlight on him. His legislative accomplishments during his second term were greater than for the first, due largely to the ability of the state GOP machine to control the legislature.

  On November 6, Edwin McKnight, president of the state senate, announced that he would be a candidate for delegate to the Republican Convention, committed to Coolidge’s presidential nomination. Others followed suit. Half a year before the Republicans were due to convene in Chicago, a Coolidge boomlet was under way. It was by then almost a natural progression for the reelected governor. From Northampton his scope had enlarged to include western Massachusetts, and then he had had to appeal to voters in all parts of the state. Now he was moving to the national stage, the most complicated and difficult of them all, more so perhaps in this period than it would be toward the end of the twentieth century.

  In order to better understand just what happened in 1919–1920, one must temporarily put aside Coolidge’s activities and turn to the nature of presidential politics in 1920, to appreciate what was involved in obtaining the nomination of a major political party that year.

  Begin by understanding that national politics in this period bore little resemblance to national politics today. For one thing, there was no truly national party in this period. Credit is sometimes given to Mark Hanna of Ohio for having created a national GOP in 1896 for the McKinley campaign, but Hanna was always first among equals, with the stress on the equals. Rather, the state organizations ruled supreme in their areas, and their leaders would come together every four years to select a national ticket and write a platform.

  This was still a time when local politics was deemed more important than national politics, and there were city bosses as well as those who dominated states. The situation was changing, to be sure, especially through the actions and efforts of Theodore Roosevelt and Woodrow Wilson. Before TR, Congress was deemed the more important branch. When Admiral George Dewey made an abortive try for the presidency after the Spanish–American War, he told reporters that he was qualified because the president takes orders from Congress, and he had been taking orders all his adult life. Thomas Reed, who was an able Speaker of the House in the 1890s, once refused to consider a bid for the presidency, which he considered an inferior office to the one he occupied.

  Roosevelt and Wilson shifted power to the White House, but in 1920 the legislators and the political bosses were prepared to retake power, and all the putative candidates recognized this. Independent though he was, Roosevelt understood this and courted the bosses once in office. So did Wilson. Any president who hoped to rule without their support would enter into uncharted territory.

  This was the unspoken assumption that delineated the atmosphere during the primaries. The primary elections so familiar nowadays existed then as well, and indeed went back more than forty years, but there the similarity ends. Sixteen states were to have primary elections in 1920, to be conducted between March and June, but most of these were not binding. Although each state selected delegates in its own way, the primaries were more akin to popularity contests than anything else. In some of the states the primary was followed by a party convention, during which the actual delegates were selected. The convention might be informed by the primary regarding the public’s preferences, but this was rarely deemed an important matter. Delegates found it possible to vote their own wills. Those few primaries in which the votes were binding were so only for the first ballot, and since most conventions went through several ballots, the primaries had little effect on the nominations except to vindicate the claims of one candidate or another. Usually only the party faithful, taken to the polls by representatives of the state machine, bothered to cast their ballots in primaries, and so the results usually reflected the desires of the leadership.

  The candidates selected the primaries they entered with care. If winning did not mean much, losing might be taken as a sign of weakness. Then, too, at a time when favorite sons were quite common, it might be fatal to enter the ranks against such a candidate. Losing against the local man was very possible, while a victory would earn the anger of the state party. Most important, these primaries could be costly, eating up funds needed for the general election and prompting candidates to trade favors for donations. And when it was all over, the winners and losers would have been at each other’s throats for months, thus making a reconciliation difficult if not impossible. Such had been the case with the 1912 Republican primaries, when Roosevelt and Taft so savaged one another that the experience contributed to the party split. The 1920 Republican primaries were to have a major impact on the nomination, but not in the way designers of these elections had anticipated.

  The state political bosses were the key to presidential politics in this period. They represented
a tradition as old as the country itself. Boies Penrose in Pennsylvania, Joseph Foraker in Ohio, Reed Smoot of Utah, and their counterparts in other states exercised grips on their parties that do not exist today. Often these men executed their powers from the Senate, as did Foraker, Smoot, and Penrose, and, for a while, Crane. In addition to them there were some lesser leaders, such as James Wadsworth of New York, the son of a respected House member; William Calder, also from New York, who dominated downstate GOP politics; James Watson of Indiana, a party wheelhorse who, had the bosses been able to install a president by fiat, might have been their choice; Frank Brandegee of Connecticut, who succeeded to the power and office of boss Orville Platt in 1905; Medill McCormick of Illinois, who was allied to newspaper and farm machinery fortunes; and Charles Curtis of Kansas, among others.

  If there was a “boss of bosses,” a man who might be considered Hanna’s successor, it would be Penrose. Actually, Penrose succeeded Nelson Aldrich in such prominence, while Aldrich had been elevated when Matthew Quay of Pennsylvania died. Quay had followed Hanna.

  Pennsylvania was a pivotal state, with thirty-eight electoral votes and seventy-six voting delegates to the convention, second only to New York’s forty-five electoral votes and eighty delegates, but this was not the reason for Penrose’s power. Through force of personality and intimidating size—6’4” and 350 pounds in his prime, with a bull neck and pig-like eyes—Penrose was the kind of man who dominated a room and to whom others looked for wisdom and favors. He had been a man of enormous appetites, capable of devouring two ducks or a five-pound steak at a sitting, along with a quart of champagne or whiskey. As for clout in Washington, he was chairman of the Senate Finance Committee. Not an orator, or even particularly well-known outside of the Senate, Penrose wielded his power in committees and private meetings.