Coolidge

by Robert Sobel

  In February, Daugherty made what would become a famous prediction to a New York Times reporter:I don’t expect Senator Harding to be nominated on the first, second, or third ballots, but I think we can afford to take chances that, about eleven minutes after two, Friday morning of the convention, when ten or twenty weary men are sitting around a table, someone will say, “Who will be nominated?” At that decisive time the friends of Harding will suggest him and can well afford to abide by the results.

  At the time it was considered a foolhardy prediction, but Daugherty had thought it over, and it made sense. Reporters also understood how the parties worked. On June 7 a New York Times reporter wrote a story about the backroom politicking that occurs at conventions:One of the most interesting questions to be answered when the Republican Convention is over—if anyone can answer it—will be whether the presidential candidate was nominated at the Congress Hotel or the Blackstone Hotel. Formally and officially, of course, he is to be named by the delegates on the floor of the conventional hall. As a matter of fact, unless there is a genuine stampede—and political historians differ as to whether there ever has been a single Republican stampede since the beginning of things—he will be named either in the lobbies, corridors, and headquarters of the Congress or in the private rooms of the Blackstone.

  As it happened, the selection was made in the private rooms of the Blackstone, but most Americans, who did not understand party mechanics, followed the campaign like a horse race. By spring everyone—including the presidential hopefuls—pondered one question: even if Lowden did manage to stop Wood, could he win the prize for himself? Just prior to the convention, Daugherty again sketched a scenario for a reporter:I won’t try to fool you. You can see what we’ve got here, it’s only a shoestring. I’ll tell you in confidence what’s in my mind. All I’m doing is getting in touch with the leaders and delegates who are for Wood and Lowden, being friendly with them. When the convention comes, those two armies will battle each other to a standstill. When both realize they can’t win, when they’re tired and hot and sweaty and discouraged both the armies will remember me and this little headquarters. They’ll be like soldiers after a battle, who recall a shady spring along a country road where they got a drink as they marched to the front. When they remember me that way maybe both sides will turn to Harding—I don’t know—it’s just a chance.

  Despite fervent campaigning, the candidates said little about issues. Newspapers and candidates focused on the League of Nations as a central issue of the campaign. They ignored, however, the problems of reconversion of the economy, the recession that the nation was beginning to experience, the unfinished agenda of Progressivism, and much more, including Prohibition. Although voters learned that Johnson was an isolationist, that Wood believed in a strong America and was a bit of an authoritarian, and that Lowden was concerned with encouraging economic development, the details were not made clear. And why should they be? There would be enough time for that in the general election. In Chicago, the candidates had to win delegates, not the electorate.

  By then Stearns had established a Coolidge for President headquarters in Washington, led by James Reynolds, a Capitol insider who had once served as the party’s secretary. A second office was established in Chicago, the convention’s site, that June. It was a modest, amateur affair. Stearns had learned his way around Massachusetts politics, but he had no experience outside of the state. Reynolds sought out his colleagues and boosted Coolidge as a sure-fire vote-getter. Lieutenant Governor Channing Cox arrived to speak out for Coolidge, and other friends and associates were there, including Dwight Morrow. Coolidge’s name appeared in some of the columns as a possible compromise candidate in case of a deadlock, but this was usual talk in the age of brokered conventions.

  And what did the putative candidate think of all this? He was, as usual, circumspect. Coolidge clearly wanted to be president, and he obviously believed himself qualified for the position. Did he believe he had a chance? A letter to his father, written shortly after Crane’s death in October, indicated he did: “Had he [Crane] been his old self in Chicago I feel the result there would have been different. We did not know until too late that he had been physically unable there to do what we had expected of him.”

  Coolidge did not then consider the vice presidency. He rejected offers from several states to back him for the second post, but he also knew that the people around the presidential designee, and not the delegates, would decide the vice presidential nomination.

  Stearns raised $68,000 for the Coolidge campaign, of which he contributed $12,500, and Crane another $5,000, with much of the rest coming from Massachusetts businessmen. It was a small amount, but then again Daugherty had raised only $113,000 for Harding. Soon, however, their paucity of funds seemed a blessing; Wood and Lowden, each rich in funds, maneuvered to crush one another—for one of the key issues became campaign spending. Even before the balloting, New York Times reporter Ernest Harview took note of the matter:What becomes of the enormous sums of money raised and disbursed at every recurring election for president of the United States? The sums so contributed amounted to $3 million in 1904, to $5 million in 1908, to $8 million in 1912, and to more than $12 million in 1916.

  The present presidential campaign is only in its primary stage, and already as testimony before the United States Senate committee had shown, between $2 million and $3 million has been expended, though neither party convention has yet been held. Is this money being used for bribery and corruption or applied to legitimate campaign expenses. What becomes of it?

  Answers were soon provided.

  Louis Seibold, a reporter for the New York World, brought to the attention of his editor, Charles Lincoln, one of Hiram Johnson’s speeches condemning Wood’s lavish campaign spending. The newspapermen concluded there was a story there. Lincoln contacted Johnson’s manager, William Borah, one of the lions of the Senate, a cantankerous maverick. Borah was interested, and wanted to know more.

  On March 27 the World ran a front page story listing the key contributors to the Wood campaign, which Seibold had obtained on a leak from John King—whom Wood had dismissed as his campaign manager. After being dumped by Wood, King became the eyes and ears for Boies Penrose, who wanted to block Wood.

  Borah then took to the Senate floor to demand an investigation, and a subcommittee was selected from the Senate Committee on Privileges and Elections, headed by William Kenyon, an Iowa Republican who had entered the Senate in 1911, a Progressive who had come out for Johnson. There was no Lowden supporter on the subcommittee, as the other two members wavered between Harding and Wood.

  The subcommittee, which began its work in late May and was still in session on the eve of the convention, soon discovered that Wood had raised $1.8 million, Lowden $414,000, and Johnson a mere $194,000. This sparked talk of how the wealthy were trying to buy elections.4 For example, William Procter, who had voiced sympathy for totalitarian movements, had made the Wood campaign a $710,000 “loan,” and there had been donations from such tycoons as E.L. Doheny, Dan Hanna, and Ambrose Monel.

  Although the Lowden people argued that only $35,000 of the contributions to their man came from outsiders, and that the Lowdens had anted close to $400,000 of their own money, this ploy backfired—it just showed how wealthy individuals dominated presidential politics. Worse, Louis Emmerson, one of the Lowden’s managers, could not account for $5,000 of the funds expended in Missouri, and then two of the delegates from that state revealed that they had received $2,500 each.

  But by the time of the convention, the damage had been done. Wood and Lowden, the front-runners, had been tainted by money and the stench of corruption. Johnson, however, did not benefit, either; the party regulars, who opposed him in any case, resented his attempt to smear the party as corrupt.

  The newspapers for June 5 carried the betting odds offered by bookmakers on the hopefuls. Fred Schwed, a stockbroker who also booked wagers, quoted Johnson at 2 to 1, Wood at 2½ to 1, Lowden at 10 to 1, and Hoover at
7 to 1. He had Harding at 6 to 1, and Coolidge at 8 to 1. Although Lowden still had a sizable number of pledged voters, most thought that he had reached his zenith, and that in the end it would come down to a race between Wood and Johnson.

  The Literary Digest polled its mostly middle class readers on the eve of the convention. The poll indicated that Wood was ahead with 277,486 of those questioned, while Johnson was in second place with 263,087. Then came Hoover, Lowden, Charles Evans Hughes, Harding, and Coolidge. The governor of Massachusetts received 33,621 votes, while 67,041 wanted Coolidge for the vice presidency.

  Strategies changed based on the revelations leading up to the convention. In this period of brokered conventions, managers took a handful of axioms seriously, and reporters were well aware of them. The first was momentum; the candidate, if at all possible, had to show progress through the balloting. The second was that all the secondary candidates had stakes in uniting to cripple the leader. The third was that the temporary lending of delegates was perfectly acceptable. Thus delegates pledged to Candidate One could be lent for a few ballots to Candidate Two in order to block Candidate Three. Once this was done, they would be returned to Candidate One, who would then try to bowl over Candidate Two and all the others. Daugherty was a master at this game. He also knew that while all watched the delegate count, in the end the bosses, informed by what was happening on the floor, would weigh in with their choice. His task was to make Harding look good in the balloting and impress the real powers. But Frank Stearns, just a state politician, had no access to the leaders, and concentrated instead on rallying his meager forces on the floor.

  Of the 984 GOP delegates in 1920, a clear majority—529—were nominally uncommitted, but actually the number was higher than that, and the deal making was on in earnest. Before the campaign opened, Daugherty later wrote, he met with Emmerson to discuss a proposition. Daugherty was willing to throw some of Harding’s delegates to Lowden. “We’ll form an alliance then to first beat Wood, for we can’t allow Harding’s vote to be too small, but we’ll loan you every vote we can until you pass Wood. The minute you do this, Wood is out of the race and all friendship on the floor of the convention ceases between us—you understand that.” Emmerson certainly did. He believed that when this happened, Lowden would become unbeatable, and wouldn’t need the Harding delegates. For his part, Daugherty would then line up with other candidates or a single candidate to stop Lowden. It was a risky strategy, but in his position, he had to take risks.

  Lodge, who as expected became temporary and then permanent chairman, opened the convention on Tuesday, June 8, and delivered a long tirade against Wilson and the League. The platform was adopted that evening, and, predictably, covered everything from the League (it hedged), to relations with Mexico (strongly opposed to that country’s nationalization policies), to the high cost of living (opposed), to immigration restriction (favored). As with so many platforms, it was hardly noticed.

  While Lodge spoke, the temperature in the convention hall neared 100 degrees and remained there throughout the meetings. The building, a converted prison, had thick stone walls and turrets, which were supposed to repel the heat but didn’t; throughout the convention the delegates suffered in those pre–air conditioning days. They sat or meandered through the long nominating speeches for the leading candidates, the seconding speeches, the cheering and marches—close to an hour for each. Then Gillett nominated Coolidge, in a speech that took all of five minutes. “Our candidate is a man of few words, and in that respect I shall imitate him,” he began. “And I only wish I could imitate his effective use of words.” He ended in the traditional way. “He is as patient as Lincoln, as silent as Grant, as diplomatic as McKinley, with the political instinct of Roosevelt. His character is as firm as the mountains of his native state. Like them, his head is above the clouds, and he stands unshaken amid the tumult and the storm.”

  According to newspaper reports, the Nebraska delegation rose to applaud the speech, and then individual delegates from other states joined in.

  Mrs. Alexandra Carlisle Pfeiffer—the only woman in the Massachusetts delegation, an amateur actress with a fine stage presence that Stearns recognized—delivered a short, well received seconding speech for Governor Coolidge. Only thirty-four years old, she was a handsome woman. Mrs. Pfeiffer was one of several women called upon to deliver seconding speeches, reflecting that this was the first election in which women would vote under the provisions of the new constitutional amendment.

  Through all of this Coolidge remained in his apartment in the Adams House, where he received convention news from his secretary, Henry Long, and others. He wrote of his thoughts at the time to his father:Before this reaches you the nomination will be probably be made. Just now Johnson is out of it. Balloting was just beginning. Probably Wood or Lowden cannot win but may. If not my chance seems best. My nomination by Speaker Gillett was well taken with genuine spontaneous applause—not manufactured.

  Other nominations followed. Harding was nominated by Ohio Governor Frank Willis, a real spellbinder, who started out with: “Every candidate before this convention is worthy of the honor, and the man nominated will be elected—no matter what his name.” After the acrimony of the past few months, this was greeted gratefully by the delegates.

  The balloting began on Friday morning. On the first ballot Wood led with 287 votes; Lowden had 211; Johnson, 133; and far behind these and some others, Harding had 65 votes, and farther behind still, Coolidge had 34, of which all but six were from Massachusetts, with seven from the state, including that of Lodge, going for Wood. The Lodge vote was no surprise; the senator had reportedly said, “I have known Calvin Coolidge only as long as it has been necessary to know him.”

  On the second ballot Daugherty filtered votes to Lowden, at the same time trying unsuccessfully to make Harding’s vote rise. On the fourth ballot Lowden had 289 votes to Wood’s 299; it seemed he had gained enough momentum to pass Wood on the next ballot and then roar on to victory. Harding then had 61½ votes, and Coolidge, 25. Lowden seemed a near-certain winner. “Running fine,” one delegate wrote him. “Nomination not later than the 5th ballot.”

  Daugherty then shifted his attention to halting the Lowden steamroller. On the floor he tried to rally his troops to return to Harding, while the bosses prepared to settle matters their own way. Senators Lodge and Reed Smoot conferred for a moment at the platform, and then Smoot went to the podium to move the convention to adjourn until 10:00 AM. The Wood and Lowden forces, both of which thought they might win if the balloting continued, shouted their objections. When Lodge called for the vote, the “nays” erupted, followed by a scattering of “aye” votes. With this, the stunned convention adjourned. Journalist Mark Sullivan cornered Smoot and asked why he wanted the adjournment. “Oh, there’s going to be a deadlock and we’ll have to work out some solution; we wanted the night to think it over.” This did not appear in the following day’s newspapers, but newsmen like Sullivan and Frank Kent knew it meant the bosses were going to meet.

  Several currents swirled around that evening. Borah had an idea what was happening and attempted to find some way to leverage the Johnson votes to strike a deal. Borah, New Hampshire Senator George Moses, and others went to see Johnson and gave him their views of the situation. Moses, who had originally supported Wood, had days earlier suggested a Wood–Johnson ticket, but Johnson did not respond. Now Moses came up with another compromise: a ticket headed by Philander Knox with Johnson for vice president. Despite Knox’s advanced age—he was sixty-seven years old in 1920—and ill health, Johnson would have nothing of it. The Harding men also visited Johnson, proposing a Harding–Johnson ticket, but Johnson also turned down this offer—he would not settle for second place with anyone.

  Both tickets had appeal; either could have been elected. As it turned out, Knox died in 1921, as did Harding two years later. Had Hiram Johnson accepted either offer, he would have been president, while Calvin Coolidge would have retired to Northampton and have been
forgotten. As so often happened in his political career, Coolidge benefited from a stroke of good fortune.

  When the convention adjourned neither Lodge nor Smoot knew the next step; they had acted without consulting the party leaders. For a while it had seemed Wood might be able to swing the vote; over the telephone, Penrose told his representatives that Wood could have the nomination in return for giving the bosses three cabinet posts; Wood rejected the notion, calling it a “wicked game.” That evening Senators Charles Curtis of Kansas, Frank Brandegee of Connecticut, and Lodge dined with George Harvey—a former Democrat and member of the Wilson team who was now going over to the GOP—in Harvey’s suite at the Blackstone Hotel. They all agreed Wood and Lowden would cancel each other the next day, and that Johnson was out if it. Whoever among the others showed strength could win on some future ballot. Several names were mentioned—Charles Evans Hughes, who had lost to Wilson in 1916; Philander Knox; William Sproul; and Republican National Chairman Will Hays. Then they talked about Harding, who Curtis felt had the best chance.

  Curtis went to contact the bosses, while the others continued their ruminations. Representatives of the bosses appeared from time to time, entered the discussion, and then left. Crane was there, but what he or any of the others said is not known. Penrose, of course, remained in Philadelphia, but a year and a half later his physician, Dr. H.W. Carpenter, reported his contact with the group.

  He was a very sick man. He collapsed… he had been unconscious for hours. But even in that condition his mind was subconsciously turning over the problem at Chicago. He came to at last… turned to Leighton C. Taylor, his secretary, and asked what they were doing at Chicago. It was the first question he asked after regaining his consciousness. Taylor answered that they had been doing nothing, that a deadlock had been reached. The senator lay a moment, thinking. “Call up King,” he said at last to Taylor, “and tell him to throw it to Harding.”