The Bully Pulpit: Theodore Roosevelt, William Howard Taft, and the Golden Age of Journalism

by Doris Kearns Goodwin

  Taft’s long struggle with conservative Republicans over the Philippine tariff had awakened him to the larger inequity of the entire domestic tariff structure—a system that created immense advantages for eastern manufacturers and massive corporations over western farmers and small business. He believed the tariff represented the “only weakness” in the Republican Party, and he wanted to address the problem publicly. Nonetheless, he remained well aware that he would be regarded as a spokesman for the administration, promising Roosevelt that he would revise his remarks if the draft seemed “too outspoken.” Nellie had read an “outrageously long” early draft, which she deemed reminiscent of a “dull” opinion from the bench. He had compressed the entire speech. “One’s wife is mighty useful under circumstances like this,” he proudly acknowledged to Roosevelt.

  “It’s a bully speech,” encouraged Roosevelt in reply. He was confident that Taft had safely navigated the tariff issue by stating that revision would be possible only when popular sentiment within the party crystallized. Personally, he did not believe that reform would be realized before the presidential election. Yet, if the Republicans were victorious, they would probably have to present a plan for revision immediately afterward. “I neither wish to split the Republican party,” Roosevelt wrote, “nor to seem to promise something Congress would not do.” In fact, he suggested that Taft show the speech to the conservative party leaders, Speaker Cannon and Charles Littlefield.

  On the evening of September 5, 3,000 people gathered at the Alameda Opera House in downtown Bath, Maine, to hear Taft deliver “the first big Administration speech of the campaign.” The audience enthusiastically cheered Taft’s passionate defense of regulatory reforms and anti-trust initiatives. The president’s historic work to strengthen the federal response to long-standing abuses, Taft declared, “is the issue of the campaign, its only issue; its only possible issue.” Only when he turned to the tariff did Taft diverge from his central message. “With a frankness that is almost startling,” The Washington Post observed, the likely 1908 Republican nominee voiced his opposition to the conservative “stand-pat attitude” of both the president and the Speaker of the House, proclaiming “that his party must face tariff revision squarely and unhesitatingly.”

  Reaction in the press was overwhelmingly favorable. The New York Sun called Taft’s speech “the frankest, the ablest and the most manly and engaging deliverance that has ever come from any member of Mr. Roosevelt’s Cabinet on any subject.” The solicitor general, Henry Hoyt, told Taft that he had “never made a sharper speech,” lauding it as “honest & courageous all the way through,” and adding, “All of us in our hearts agree with you about tariff revision.” Taft was delighted by the public praise but most anxiously awaited Roosevelt’s response. “It is the great speech of the campaign,” Roosevelt telegraphed him, “and I cannot imagine the people failing to recognize it as such.” Taft humbly replied: “A man never knows exactly how the child of his brain will strike other people.”

  TAFT’S PLAN TO EXTEND HIS tranquil vacation at Murray Bay through September was abruptly cut short by turmoil in Cuba. Revolutionary forces, angered by electoral fraud during the 1905 presidential campaign, had taken control of most of the island outside of Havana, leaving President Tomás Estrada Palma in a precarious situation. Though the treaty ending the war with Spain had bound the United States to respect Cuban sovereignty, the Platt Amendment stipulated that the United States retained power to take action whenever necessary to safeguard the independent status of the island nation, and to support “a government adequate for the protection of life, property and individual liberty.”

  “In Cuba what I have dreaded has come to pass,” Roosevelt told George Trevelyan on September 6: “A revolution has broken out, and not only do I dread the loss of life and property, but I dread the creation of a revolutionary habit, and the creation of a class of people who take to disturbance and destruction as an exciting and pleasant business.” On September 13, President Estrada Palma claimed he could not “prevent rebels from entering cities and burning property” and secretly requested the landing of U.S. troops “to save his country from complete anarchy.” Roosevelt confided to Ambassador Henry White that he was “so angry with that infernal little Cuban republic that I would like to wipe its people off the face of the earth. All that we wanted from them was that they would behave themselves,” he added petulantly, “and be prosperous and happy so that we would not have to interfere.”

  The following day, Roosevelt summoned Taft and Assistant Secretary of State Robert Bacon to a conference at Oyster Bay. The two men would travel to Cuba “as intermediaries,” Roosevelt decided, hoping to effect a peaceful solution. From Oyster Bay, Taft took the train to Washington, where he conferred with the judge advocate general to determine whether congressional approval was necessary if the president decided to send troops. The judge advocate general, Taft told Roosevelt, believed the treaty authorized presidential action without congressional approval. Nevertheless, Taft wished to get Attorney General Moody’s opinion. Roosevelt adamantly directed him not to consult Moody. “If the necessity arises I intend to intervene,” he explained, “and I should not dream of asking the permission of Congress. That treaty is the law of the land and I shall execute it.” His decision was in the interest of the country, he added, essential to “give independence to the Executive in dealing with foreign powers.” Furthermore, he was certainly “willing to accept responsibility to establish precedents which successors may follow.”

  When Taft and Bacon reached Havana, they met with President Estrada Palma and the leaders of his Moderate Party. Not a single delegate from the Liberal Party, which represented Cuba’s less privileged, was present. Pushing for intervention to sustain their power, Estrada Palma and his supporters were dismayed when Taft refused to act before meeting with rebels in the field to fully evaluate the situation. The secretary of war had not traveled to Cuba intent on using American power to suppress the insurgents; he had come as an arbitrator hoping to reconcile differences peacefully.

  Taft’s “informal, straightforward and kindly manner,” one reporter noted, “created a strong and favorable impression.” Even as he privately lamented “the utter unfitness of these people for self government,” Taft listened patiently to representatives from both sides. Reviewing the evidence regarding the 1905 election, he concluded that complaints of wholesale fraud were “well founded.” To orchestrate a compromise, he suggested that if insurgents “laid down their arms and dispersed to their homes,” a temporary executive acceptable to both sides would be appointed, the disputed legislative seats would be vacated, and planning would begin for a new election. The liberals agreed, but the moderates promptly sabotaged the possibility. Rather than accept the compromise terms, Palma announced that he, his cabinet, and every moderate congressman would resign, “leaving nothing of the Government.”

  Meanwhile, the fierce skirmishes outside Havana continued. Having nearly routed government forces in the countryside, the rebels stood poised to enter the capital. “The insurgents are all about Havana,” Taft told Nellie nervously. “I don’t know that I can save bloodshed.” One insurgent encampment was situated only 1,200 yards from the house where Taft was staying. The rapidly shifting situation required William Taft to take decisive action without explicit guidance from the president. “Things are certainly kaleidoscopic,” Roosevelt telegraphed. “I must trust to your judgment on the ground.” The tense days during this standoff proved “the most unpleasant” Taft had ever experienced. “I am in a condition of mind where I can hardly do anything with sequence,” he confessed to Nellie, adding, “I would give a great deal to talk it over with you.” Unable to sleep, he found himself awake at three in the morning, watching a severe thunderstorm build and roll over Havana Bay. Were it not for Nellie and his family, Will reflected, he would not be sorry if one of the bolts flashing in the sky struck him dead.

  After a week of rancorous negotiation, Taft finally brokered a four-p
oint plan. President Estrada Palma would remain in office long enough to officially request American intervention. The United States would set up a provisional government, with Taft as the initial temporary governor general. The insurgents, secure in America’s pledge that new elections would be held, would begin to disarm. And to keep the peace, American forces would land in Cuba. Taft wisely emphasized that this provisional government would “be maintained only long enough to restore order and peace and public confidence.” The Cuban Constitution would remain in full force and Cuba’s flag would continue to fly over government buildings. Once elections were held, the U.S. military would be withdrawn.

  Taft anticipated that his course of action would be criticized back at home but took solace in the fact that “all parties here seem to be delighted.” A resolution without further bloodshed and war, he assured Nellie, would “go a long way to make such attacks futile.” A telegraph from Oyster Bay confirmed Taft’s judgment: “I congratulate you most heartily upon the admirable way you have handled the whole matter,” Roosevelt wrote, adding that he was “especially pleased with the agreement which the revolutionary committee signed.”

  As soon as the accord became public, the rebels began to disarm. Taft promptly cabled Nellie to join him in Havana, knowing her presence would bring him “great comfort.” He planned to remain in Havana for several weeks, until Charles E. Magoon, the former governor of the Panama Canal Zone, could relieve him as governor general. Eager for adventure, Nellie decided instantly to go. Accompanied by Robert Bacon’s wife, she sailed from Norfolk on a steamer escorted by a battleship and three hundred Marines. “For the first time in my life I felt as if we were actually ‘going to war,’ ” she recalled. Her ceremonious reception as “the first lady of the land” was reminiscent of her days in Manila. On the day after their arrival, Nellie Taft and Mrs. Bacon hosted a splendid gala at the palace, with a guest list comprising more than three hundred Cubans from both sides of the dispute. “Everybody seemed to be especially happy and festive after the month of gloom,” Nellie recalled, “and the pretty white gowns, the gay Cuban colours and the crisp smartness of American uniforms mingled together in the great rooms with quite brilliant effect.” Once Magoon was sworn in as governor general, the Tafts made plans to depart Havana. “Upon my word you seem to have handled everything in a most masterly way,” Roosevelt commended his secretary of war as he wrapped up his stay in Cuba. “I doubt whether you have ever rendered our country a greater service.”

  As the Tafts prepared to embark from the Havana dock on October 13, Magoon reported, “the shore of the Bay was lined with thousands of cheering people, all available water craft was pressed into service to escort the ships to the mouth of the harbor, the forts exchanged salutes with the vessels.” Nellie recalled a widely printed cartoon depicting poor Magoon seated “in agony on a sizzling stove labeled ‘Cuba,’ while Mr. Taft appeared in the distance in a fireman’s garb carrying a long and helpful-looking line of hose.” Indeed, the political situation on the islands was far from resolved, and preparation for the new elections proved unexpectedly complex. In the end, Magoon would struggle for over two years to complete a new census and revise the electoral laws; not until early 1909 were national elections finally held. After the election, Magoon finally relinquished control to a newly elected liberal administration and the U.S. troops sailed for home.

  Though many critics opposed the very concept of intervention in Cuban affairs, Taft’s role in the crisis was generally praised. “Merely to record the movements and missions of the Secretary of War requires a nimble mind,” the New York Sun remarked. Most men would have considered it “a labor of Hercules” to negotiate peace in the midst of a revolution: Taft—accustomed to settling volatile dilemmas from Manila to Panama, from Ohio to Maine—simply threw “a change of clothing into a traveling bag” as if he were setting forth on a holiday and “returned to his War Department duties.” Taft himself presented a far less jaunty picture of his struggle to implement peace in Cuba: “If mental worry kept me down I should have lost 50 pounds in this crisis,” he revealed to Charles. Instead, having sought comfort in food during “those awful twenty days,” he had gained back 15 or 20 pounds, necessitating yet another alteration of his wardrobe.

  TAFT SCARCELY HAD TIME TO unpack before Roosevelt dispatched him on a three-week speaking tour through a dozen states in advance of the midterm elections. “The paramount issue,” a midwestern editorial observed, was “whether the president shall be sustained during the remaining two years of his term by a republican congress.” No one could present a better case for the Roosevelt administration than William Howard Taft, the most prominent cabinet member, “the jolly good fellow” most likely to secure the next Republican nomination.

  All 5,000 seats at the Lyric Stage in Baltimore were filled, and hundreds more people stood in the back and packed the galleries when Taft stepped to the podium. Though he spoke for an hour and three quarters, defending the measured use of federal power to correct abuses of the industrial system, not one person rose to leave. “This is rather contrary to your theory that no audience can stand more than an hour,” he teased Nellie, conceding wryly that a few might have “sneaked out saying to themselves that a man who has the egregious vanity to think he can entertain an audience for more than an hour ought not to be encouraged.” In Cleveland, Danville, Decatur, Omaha, and Pocatello, Taft addressed similarly enthusiastic crowds. Seven thousand people thronged to hear him speak in Boise, Idaho, where he was met with sustained applause: “Hats were thrown up in the air, women stood up on the chairs and waved their handkerchiefs.”

  “The notices have all been favorable,” Nellie informed him from home. Nonetheless, she was concerned that he seemed unable to forgo mention of the tariff, sparking an antagonism within the Republican Party that could cost him the nomination. Taft acknowledged the legitimacy of her political estimate but felt so strongly on the issue he would wage the fight notwithstanding. Furthermore, he hoped his wife wouldn’t get “the blues” when he explained that despite feeling more “at home” with his audiences, he still found scant enjoyment in the political game and wished she could “put aside any hope in the direction of politics.”

  Despite her husband’s protestations, Nellie was unwilling to relinquish the prospect of a Taft presidency. In Roosevelt, she found a powerful ally, though she continued to fear that he coveted another term for himself. On Saturday, October 27, with Taft in transit from Pittsburgh to Cleveland, Roosevelt invited Nellie to lunch at the White House. He confessed his concern to her, explaining that some Kentucky supporters had told him that Taft had flatly “turned them down” when they approached him about setting up an organization of support, maintaining that he was “not a candidate.” If Taft could not be “more encouraging,” Roosevelt continued, it might “become necessary for him to support someone else.” When Roosevelt mentioned Charles Evans Hughes, the New York attorney who had successfully investigated the life insurance industry and was now running against William Randolph Hearst for governor, Nellie grew annoyed by the tone of conversation. “I felt like saying ‘D——you, support who you want, for all I care,’ ” she confessed to her husband, “but suffice it to say I did not.”

  “I think what the president is anxious to do,” Taft cannily speculated to his wife after considering her account of the White House luncheon, “is to stir you up to stir me up to take more interest in the Presidential campaign, with a broad intimation that if I did not take more interest he would not.” Taft also posted a letter to the president conveying his understanding that Roosevelt might have to support a Hughes candidacy. “If you do,” Taft assured the president, “you may be sure it will awaken no feeling of disappointment on my part.” In fact, Taft confirmed, his recent travels had convinced him that “the strong feeling” he had encountered everywhere was not for him, but for the renomination of Roosevelt himself. The people did not want a “substitute,” he explained; they wanted a third term.

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p; Taft, meanwhile, continued to speak before spirited crowds. In some states, he spoke seven or eight times a day as his train moved from city to city. Despite the frenetic pace, he took the time every few days to update Roosevelt on local and state issues. “I am immensely interested in your account of the campaign,” Roosevelt responded. “I take the keenest pride in what you are now doing. Three cheers for ‘offensive partisanship’!”

  When the votes were tallied on November 6, Roosevelt was tremendously pleased. Republicans had expected significant losses in the midterm elections following their landslide victory two years before. Instead, the party retained a strong majority in the House, losing only twenty-eight seats, and actually added four seats in the Senate. “Our triumph at the elections has certainly been great,” Roosevelt wrote to Kermit. His party’s hold on Congress, he believed, would make the last two years of his term “very, very much easier than they otherwise would have been.” Roosevelt readily acknowledged his debt to Elihu Root and especially to the dutiful William Howard Taft. “I am overjoyed,” he told his secretary of war, enthusiastically praising Taft’s efforts as he added, “I cannot sufficiently congratulate you upon the great part you have played in the contest.” He was particularly pleased by Governor Frank Gooding’s reelection in Idaho and the defeat of the “scandal-mongering” William Randolph Hearst in New York—a victory he considered nothing less than a triumph for civilization. “By George,” he confided to Taft, “I sometimes wish I was not in the White House and could be on the stump.”