From the start, Roosevelt understood that public opinion was the single most effective prod for recalcitrant party leaders in the cabinet and the Congress. “Until he began to roar,” his biographer Henry Pringle maintained, “the merit system had been a subject that interested a small fraction of the intelligent minority” whom powerful politicians could safely afford to ignore. In order “to secure proper administration of the laws,” the task before Roosevelt was nothing less than “to change the average citizen’s mental attitude toward the question.” In order to battle this entrenched spoils system, it was necessary to instill something of his own sense of outrage into the people, to popularize the reformist cause and foment change from the bottom up.
In his campaign to muster publicity and elicit indignation, Theodore Roosevelt adapted techniques that had served him well in the New York State Assembly, and developed new tactics he would perfect in the years ahead. For his opening salvo, he launched an on-the-spot investigation into the New York Customs House, where rumors indicated that clerks were leaking examination questions to favored party candidates for a fee of $50. When he determined the identity of the guilty clerks, Roosevelt issued a scathing report demanding their dismissal and prosecution. Headlines and editorials broadcast his message across the country, serving notice that civil service law was “going to be enforced, without fear or favor.”
Roosevelt’s investigation into the New York Customs House furnished evidence that despite the new regulations prohibiting mandatory contributions to the party in power by government employees, party leaders were still demanding “so-called voluntary contributions” from low-level clerks and stenographers as the price for retaining their positions. An identical tithing system had incensed Taft in Ohio, prompting party officials to claim “he was wrecking the party by the course he followed.” Cannily appealing to the sympathy and sentiment of his audience, Roosevelt observed that “to a poor clerk just able to get along the loss of three per cent of his salary may mean just the difference between having and not having a winter overcoat for himself, a warm dress for his wife or a Christmas tree for his children.”
Straightaway, it was evident to Roosevelt that the corruption he had observed in New York was rampant nationwide, a blight far exceeding the resources of his own staff. To conduct the investigations necessary to expose illegal practices across the country, he cultivated a network of progressive journalists and editors “to point out infractions of the law in their localities.” Recognizing that the foundation of his unwelcome campaign of reform depended on sound information, Roosevelt took especial care to confirm the accuracy of the reports he received.
From Lucius Burrie Swift, editor and publisher of the crusading Civil Service Chronicle, he learned that the Indianapolis postmaster, William Wallace, a good friend of President Harrison’s, had made a number of irregular appointments that violated civil service standards. “Give me all the facts you can,” Roosevelt implored Swift. “I have to be sure that every recommendation I make of any kind or sort can be backed by the most satisfactory evidence. It would be irritating if it were not amusing to see the eagerness with which so many of the people here in power watch to catch me tripping in any recommendation, and their desire to find me making some recommendation, whether for removal or indictment, which I cannot sustain.” Initially, Wallace’s indignant response generated headlines, but the charges were ultimately verified. “We stirred things up well,” Roosevelt gloated to his friend Lodge, “but I think we have administered a galvanic shock that will reinforce [Wallace’s] virtue for the future.” His hopes were realized. In fact, the newspaper exposure did chasten the Indianapolis postmaster; within two years, his administration was deemed “a model of fairness and justice.”
Buoyed by this early success, Roosevelt turned his spotlight on Milwaukee, where informants claimed that Postmaster George Paul was systematically manipulating examination scores in order to appoint favored party members. Evidence in hand, Roosevelt issued a blistering public report and demanded Paul’s removal from office. “If he is not dismissed, as we recommend, it will be a black eye for the Commission,” Roosevelt told Lodge, “and practically an announcement that hereafter no man need fear dismissal for violating the law; for if Paul has not violated it, then it can by no possibility be violated.” Roosevelt’s report and the ensuing publicity infuriated President Harrison’s postmaster general, John Wanamaker. He charged that Roosevelt was over-stepping his authority, intruding on matters that were the province of his own department. A wealthy contributor to Harrison’s campaign fund, Wanamaker fully adhered to the time-honored spoils system and harbored contempt for civil service reformers. Wanamaker appealed to the president, who forged a weak compromise by accepting Paul’s resignation. “It was a golden chance to take a good stand,” Roosevelt lamented, “and it has been lost.”
The apparent rebuff from President Harrison did not deter Roosevelt from initiating another, more controversial investigation into violations and irregularities in the Baltimore Post Office. On the basis of information supplied by Charles Bonaparte, a civil service reformer who would one day become a member of his own cabinet, Roosevelt charged officials with using postal appointments as “a bribery chest.” Wanamaker countered by conducting his own investigation, submitting the results to a committee in the House of Representatives. Wanamaker’s report absolved the employees of any wrongdoing and accused Roosevelt of pursuing an inquisition both “unfair and partial in the extreme.” Roosevelt countered by publishing an open letter to Postmaster General Wanamaker, whom he called the “head devil” of the spoilsmen, demanding that he renounce the “gross impertinence and impropriety” of his statements.
The escalating hostility between Roosevelt and Wanamaker delighted the press. “It is war, open, avowed, and to the knife,” The Washington Post reported. The New York Times could “not remember an instance in the history of our Government” when one member of a president’s administration made “statements so damaging to the character of another officer of the Government of still higher rank.”
Critics assailed Roosevelt’s tactics, recommending that he “put a padlock on his restless and uncontrollable jaws.” The Washington Post claimed that he spoke “like a person suffering from an overdose of nerve tonic,” expressing their scorn with savage clarity: “He came into official life with a blare of trumpets and a beating of gongs, blared and beat by himself. He immediately announced himself the one man competent to take charge of the entire business of the Government. To his mind every department of the Government was under the management of incompetent and bad men. He said to himself, to his barber, to his laundryman, and to all others who would listen to his incoherent gibberish: ‘I am Roosevelt; stop work and look at me.’ For a short time he had clear sailing. As he sailed he took in wind. As he took in wind he became more puffed up. As he became more puffed up he became insolent, arrogant, and more conceited.”
As Roosevelt continued to commandeer center stage, relationships with his fellow commissioners, once quite amicable, grew increasingly contentious. He complained to Lodge that Charles Lyman was “utterly useless . . . utterly out of place as a Commissioner,” and that Hugh S. Thompson, though an “excellent” fellow, lacked the fortitude to pursue enemies of civil service with the necessary zeal. He much preferred to proceed unilaterally. “My two colleagues are now away and I have all the work of the Civil Service Commission to myself,” he told his sister Bamie. “I like it; it is more satisfactory than having a divided responsibility; and it enables me to take more decided steps.”
More troubling than friction within the commission was Roosevelt’s deteriorating relationship with President Harrison. “I have been continuing my civil service fight, battling with everybody,” he groused to Bamie, “the little gray man in the White House looking on with cold and hesitating disapproval.” Never once throughout his service in the Harrison administration was Roosevelt invited to dine at the White House. Despite the president’s “high regard
” for the young commissioner’s abilities, he was often irked by Roosevelt’s uncompromising, aggressive temperament. “Roosevelt seemed to feel,” Harrison remarked, “that everything ought to be done before sundown.” Rumors abounded that Roosevelt would be removed. With most of the influential newspapers supporting him, however, and with public indignation about violations of the civil service law at an inflamed pitch, Harrison dared not take action.
Although Roosevelt’s impetuous offensives frayed personal relationships, his public triumph over Postmaster General Wanamaker was soon complete. After hearing testimony from both sides, the House committee concluded that incontrovertible evidence backed up every single charge of fraud and misconduct. “Mr. Roosevelt is a regular young Lochinvar,” the Boston Evening Times remarked. “He isn’t afraid of the newspapers, he isn’t afraid of losing his place, and he is always ready for a fight. He keeps civil-service reform before the people and as the case often is, his aggressiveness is a great factor in a good cause.”
TO HER GREAT SURPRISE, EDITH Roosevelt found that she thoroughly enjoyed Washington. Through her husband’s friendship with Massachusetts congressman Henry Cabot Lodge, she entered a circle of literary-minded men and women whose engaging conversations centered on the books, art, and music that she loved. “Cabot has been a real comfort to her,” Theodore reported to Bamie. “He is one of the few men I know who is as well read as she is in English literature, and she delights to talk with him.” Edith also developed a close relationship with Nannie Lodge, a charming woman guided by a quick mind and a warm heart. Both women loved poetry and could recite Shakespeare “almost by heart.” The Lodges and the Roosevelts lived close enough to easily frequent each other’s homes. “You know, old fellow,” Roosevelt confided to Lodge, “you and Nannie are more to me than any one else but my own immediate family.”
Together with the Lodges, Theodore and Edith were frequent guests at the Lafayette Square town house of the historian Henry Adams. The distinguished group that congregated there included the Lincoln biographer John Hay and his wife, Clara; Senator Don Cameron with his exquisite wife, Elizabeth; the sculptor Augustus Saint-Gaudens; and the Winthrop Chanlers. Adams felt an immediate fondness for Edith, who struck him as especially “sympathetic.” His encouragement and admiration put her quickly at ease in the group’s discussions of literature, drama, and poetry. “Her taste in books and judgment of their merit qua literature were always far more reliable than were Theodore’s,” noted a town house regular.
“Edith is really enjoying Washington,” Roosevelt reported to Bamie. “One night we dined at Cabots to meet the Willy Endicotts; another night I gave a dinner to some historical friends; last evening we went to the theatre, and a supper afterwards with John Hay. . . . Of course Hay was charming, as he always is; and Edith enjoyed it all as much as I did.” She had even developed a small taste for talk of political events, so long as she could rely on her inner circle for company and conversation. At a breakfast hosted by Secretary of State James Blaine, she was delighted to find herself seated between Elizabeth Cameron and Clara Hay. Her deepening friendships did much to assuage Edith’s dread anxiety of Washington’s social world. New Year’s Day entailed an exhausting series of calls on the wives of government officials, but she was heartened by the company of Nannie Lodge. “Nannie has been a dear about sending me her carriage & this afternoon I have found courage to go out & pay hundreds of calls.”
While Edith made an effort to overcome her natural reserve, her husband happily immersed himself in the social whirl of the nation’s capital. The Roosevelts hosted casual dinners that made an enduring impression on their circle of friends. “Sunday-evening suppers where the food was of the plainest and the company of the best,” Margaret Chanler recalled. “Theodore would keep us all spellbound with tales of his adventures in the West. There was a vital radiance about the man—a glowing, unfeigned cordiality towards those he liked that was irresistible.” Edith was “more difficult of access. . . . Just as the camera is focused, she steps aside to avoid the click of the shutter.” Despite this elusive quality, “one felt in her a great strength of character, and ineluctable will power.”
During those first years in Washington, the Roosevelts successfully established themselves among the city’s social and intellectual elite. “Edith and I meet just the people we like to see,” Theodore told Bamie. “We dine out three or four times a week, and have people to dinner once or twice; so that we hail the two or three evenings when we are alone at home, and can talk and read. . . . The people we meet are mostly those who stand high in the political world, and who are therefore interested in the same subjects that interest us; while there are enough who are men of letters or of science to give a pleasant and needed variety.”
Rudyard Kipling, whom Theodore had first met at the Cosmos Club in New York, was a guest on a number of occasions. Kipling later described that first encounter when he “curled up” on a chair across from Roosevelt “and listened and wondered until the universe seemed to be spinning around and Theodore was the spinner.” If Roosevelt initially resented Kipling’s “tendency to criticise America,” he nonetheless recognized the author’s “genius” and found the man himself “very entertaining.”
Roosevelt sometimes worried that his political career suffered as he devoted time and attention to his social pursuits. After two years, his war on the spoils system had produced singular successes but little systemic change. While he had managed to reduce the practice of forcing salary contributions from government clerks, he had not “succeeded in stopping political assessments outright.” He had “harassed the wrong-doers” who manipulated examination results without eliminating the endemic corruption that fueled the practice.
If Roosevelt fretted that his gains had been modest, he had accomplished more than any of his predecessors in the Civil Service Commission. Through his dramatic investigations of unscrupulous officials, his alliances with reformist journalists and immense skill in generating publicity, he had alerted Americans to the flagrant iniquities of the spoils system. The process Roosevelt had set in motion by shining the light of publicity on these practices would prove crucial in any attempt to create a system of government based upon good work rather than political influence.
TAFT EMBARKED UPON HIS TENURE in Washington with a very different style of leadership; meticulous habits and an affable disposition helped him build accord among colleagues and superiors at every level, including the executive.
Recalling their time together in Washington, Roosevelt wryly conceded Taft’s success in gaining Harrison’s cooperation while he so “got on Harrison’s nerves,” that his very presence set the president’s “fingers drumming on the desk before him as though it were a piano.” Roosevelt marveled that despite Taft’s ability to foster cooperation among all manner of men, “he was always a man of highest ideals.”
William Howard Taft’s stolid demeanor prevented the sort of aggressive, confident debut in Washington that Roosevelt had enjoyed. He confessed to his father that his first oral argument before the Supreme Court had left him despondent. “I did not find myself as fluent on my feet as I had hoped to,” he explained. “I forgot a great many things I had intended to say.” He worried that his deliberate speaking style would fail to capture the justices’ attention. “They seem to think when I begin to talk that that is a good chance to read all the letters that have been waiting for some time, to eat lunch, and devote their attention to correcting proof, and other matters that have been delayed until my speech,” he grumbled. While the solicitor general’s position might offer great “opportunities for professional experience,” he doubted his own ability to capitalize on those opportunities. “I find it quite embarrassing to change from the easy position of sitting on the bench to the very different one of standing on your legs before it,” he told one friend, “and I do not find myself at home as I hoped to do in presenting one side of a case at Court.” Called to make a quick business trip home, he was delighted
to spend “a few days in Cincinnati, which it seems to me I left ten years ago, such a change has come over my mode of life.”
“Don’t be discouraged,” his father counseled. “I have no doubt that you will soon come to understand them & their ways perfectly, & that they will be as anxious to hear what you have to say, as you will to say it.” His mother also tried to assuage his anxieties. “Members waste their eloquence in the House and the Senate on empty benches or disorderly parties who never listen,” she reminded him. Taft assured his parents that he remained steadfastly “philosophical,” stoically framing his lack of immediate success as “the strongest reason for . . . having this experience and improving it.” Indeed, he acknowledged, “the very fact that I find it difficult, and not particularly agreeable is evidence that the medicine is good for me.”
His second appearance before the Court gave him “somewhat more satisfaction” and made him feel “more at home.” Unfortunately, his speaking style, at least in his own estimation, seemed to exert “the same soporific power” on the justices. He refused to be discouraged, declaring he would “gain a good deal of practice in addressing a lot of mummies and experience in not being overcome by circumstances.”
The Bully Pulpit: Theodore Roosevelt, William Howard Taft, and the Golden Age of Journalism Page 21