Coolidge

by Robert Sobel

  There was one exception to this practice. Harding had scheduled a meeting with the nation’s governors to discuss Prohibition enforcement, and in keeping with his pledge to carry out the Harding agenda, Coolidge attended. Pennsylvania’s Governor Gifford Pinchot, a passionate supporter of Prohibition, felt that Coolidge’s stated willingness to enforce the Volstead Act according to the letter of the law was not strong enough, and a sign that he secretly opposed the measure. Pinchot and others also knew that Coolidge had represented brewery interests in Northampton, and that he had their support when he ran for mayor in 1909. Pinchot voiced his disappointment, which resulted in prohibitionist meetings and a call for Pinchot to challenge Coolidge for the 1924 presidential nomination. Failing in this, they urged him to consider a run for the presidency on a Prohibitionist ticket. If something as slight as this could result in a challenge, Coolidge must have thought, what might a confrontation with Congress prompt?

  Coolidge had clashed with Pinchot before. In 1921 the United Mine Workers union in Pennsylvania had signed a contract with the operators which neither side liked, and there had been a strike the following year in which half a million miners left the pits, not to return until September. At the time Coolidge took office, discussions were being conducted between the operators and the union, which was headed by John L. Lewis. Pinchot and representatives of the United States Coal Commission had attempted mediation, with no success. Pinchot urged the operators to raise wages (then $4.20–$5.60 a day) and permit a checkoff of union dues. The operators wouldn’t budge on either matter.

  Coolidge met with Daugherty to find out whether he had any responsibility in this situation, and was told he could do nothing until there was an actual strike. According to Senator George Pepper of Pennsylvania, Coolidge summoned his temporary secretary, George Christian, and said, “Mr. Christian, it is about time for many people to begin to come to the White House to discuss different phases of the coal strike. Whenever anybody comes, if his special problem concerns the state, refer him to the governor of Pennsylvania. If his problem has a national phase, refer him to the United States Coal Commission. In no event bring him to me.”

  Pinchot contacted the president on August 15, asking for his intercession, but Coolidge refused to act. It might have seemed a larger version of the police strike, and Coolidge was only following the pattern set down on that occasion, but the situation in the coal matter was not remotely like that in Boston in 1919. Pinchot not only was a more astute politician than Mayor Peters, but also had a constituency aching for a confrontation. The progressive Republi-cans had threatened to bolt the 1920 convention. A party split might easily occur were Coolidge to anger Pinchot sufficiently.

  On August 23 Pinchot again telephoned Coolidge to inform him that wildcat walkouts had already begun, and that he was prepared to act in the situation if nothing was forthcoming from the White House. Coolidge invited him to Washington, where the two men, together with Coal Commissioner John Hays Hammond, discussed the situation. Although later accounts differ, it seems Coolidge proposed to order an investigation of conditions at the mines and, if necessary, provide mediation services. In any event, Pinchot left Washington with the title of Special Coal Strike Mediator, believing he had the president’s support to act on his own. Then a White House press release implied that he was doing so in cooperation with federal officials. Pinchot would have known of charges that Coolidge had attempted to snatch credit for action in the police strike from Curtis, and might have concluded this was happening in the coal walkouts.

  The strike began on September 1, when Lewis called out 150,000 miners. Pinchot did attempt mediation, and on September 7 the two sides agreed to a 10 percent wage increase, a checkoff, and an eight-hour workday. The settlement was ratified on September 17. Coolidge publicly praised Pinchot and did what he could to mollify the fiery governor, but this wasn’t enough to turn the trick, and Pinchot started to explore the possibility of a run for the presidency in 1924.

  Most newspapers believed Coolidge would have little trouble obtaining the Republican presidential nomination. How could he possibly be cast aside? The Columbus Dispatch tried to imagine a scenario in which this might happen.

  One would be such a rising of the more radical element in the Republican Party as would take control of it wholly out of the hands of the Coolidge supporters, even at the risk of a split fatal to the party’s chances in the election. The other would be such a failure in the administration of President Coolidge as would make it impossible to hold the party together in his support.

  This did not take into account the matter of scandal. On October 22, a month and a half before Congress was due to reconvene, the Senate Committee on Public Lands met to investigate the naval reserves oil leases at Elk Hill and Teapot Dome.

  The naval reserves at Elk Hill had been established in 1912, and the one at Teapot Dome three years later. At the time the navy had been converting the fleet from coal to oil, and it was feared that the supply of oil would be too small to meet future needs. Thus, the need for the reserves was deemed pressing.

  In the spring of 1922 a Wyoming citizen wrote to his senator, John Kendrick, complaining that some of the Teapot Dome reserves had been secretly leased by Interior Secretary Fall to the Mammoth Oil Company, which was controlled by Harry Sinclair, an important contributor to the Republican Party. Fall had convinced Harding to transfer control of the land from the Navy Department to the Interior Department. He testified that he had leased Teapot Dome to the Sinclair Oil Company, in return for a royalty and the construction of a pipeline to Kansas City. He also leased the Elk Hill, California, reserve to the Pan-American Petroleum and Transportation Company, headed by an old friend, Edward Doheny, in return for a royalty and construction of storage tanks. Secretary Fall explained that the oil was being drained, quite legally, by wells on adjoining lands. As a result, the reserves would be depleted in a few years. By leasing the land, Fall argued, the government received revenues that would otherwise be lost. Senator La Follette doubted this and called for an investigation.

  By right of seniority, La Follette should have chaired the investigation, but he was busy with other matters, so the chairmanship fell to conservative Republican Reed Smoot, who had been friendly with Harding. But La Follette trusted the investigating committee because it included Democrat Thomas Walsh of Montana.

  Walsh was a colorful character. He was born in Wisconsin on the eve of the Civil War, spent a year at the University of Wisconsin, whereupon he took and passed the bar examination, and he and his brother set off for the Dakota Territory to set up his practice. One day, according to an oft-told story, he and his brother came to a river. Walsh’s brother gazed at it for a while, and said, “Tom, isn’t that river flowing north?” “Yes,” said Walsh. After a moment of silence, his brother remarked, “Tom, let’s go on. I don’t feel right about a place where the rivers run north and Irishmen vote the Republican ticket.”

  In 1890 Walsh moved to Montana, where he entered local politics. He won election to the Senate in 1912, where he soon became known for his fiery temper, capacity for hard work, intelligence, integrity—and his exaggerated long black handlebar mustache. By 1923 the mustache had turned to gray, and Walsh had earned a reputation for his maverick stances and independence.

  At first the committee could find no wrongdoing. Secretary Fall testified that he had received no compensation from Sinclair or Doheny. Secretary of the Navy Denby said he had no idea why the transfer of the lands had taken place. Then Walsh called in experts who contradicted Fall, testifying that there would have been little loss through drainage. Doheny was called to the stand, and said he thought there were at least 250 million barrels in the reserve. “I would say that we will be in bad luck if we do not get $100 million profit.”

  While this was happening Walsh learned that Fall, who had not been a wealthy man in 1921, had been purchasing land and made improvements on his properties, which along with other expenditures came to more than $175,000. Ho
w did he come by such a sum? Pleading illness, Fall sent the committee a letter in which he said he had obtained $100,000 from Edward McLean, a prosperous friend. This seemed plausible, since McLean was known to have an open purse for those close to him. McLean promptly verified this, but when Walsh asked for canceled checks, McLean replied he gave Fall cash, which seemed odd. Under pressure, McLean admitted he had not made the loan. Fall now acknowledged he had not taken money from McLean, but received it from another person. Who was that person? Fall refused to say.

  In the midst of the Teapot Dome and Elk Hill investigations, Director of the Veterans Administration Charles Forbes agreed to testify before another congressional committee. He tried to exonerate himself, but failed to do so, and was bound over for trial for conspiracy to defraud the government.

  On January 3, 1924, Democratic Senator Thad Caraway of Arkansas introduced a measure to ask the president to cancel Sinclair’s lease on the grounds that it had been obtained through bribery. On January 23, Caraway, who spoke often on the matter, called Fall a “traitor,” and implied others were involved in the affair.

  On January 24 Doheny appeared before the committee, stating that on November 30, 1921, he had made a loan of $100,000 to Fall. Doheny said it wasn’t a major transaction, “no more than $25 or $50 perhaps to the ordinary individual.” It was in cash, contained in a satchel. Clearly, it was a bribe. Further evidence was introduced indicating that Sinclair had lent Fall another “$25,000 or $50,000.” Sinclair had also presented Fall with some blooded cattle and prize hogs.

  When the full story was known, the country learned that Fall had taken more than $400,000 in bribes and payoffs. Secretary Fall had miscalculated badly by not taking the full measure of Senator Walsh. Had Fall said immediately that he had received a loan from his old comrade, and had Doheny verified it, the matter might have been dropped. As it was, the Fall–Doheny connection was to form the foundation for the Teapot Dome scandal.

  Under further questioning, Doheny testified that Fall was not the only government official with whom he had dealings. He declared that he himself was a Democrat and as such had attended the 1920 convention as a delegate. He was an important contributor to both the Democratic and the Republican Parties, and several Wilson administration figures had been on his payroll. He proceeded to tick off the names of four cabinet members, including William Gibbs McAdoo, the leading contender for the 1924 presidential nomination. McAdoo had been retained as his attorney for $25,000 a year during the Wilson administration.7 Later it came out that he was also to receive a $900,000 contingency fee. “I hired them for their influence,” said Doheny, and the meaning was unmistakable.

  The New Republic wanted to know more about this:Just what Mr. Doheny hoped to get in return remains to be explained, but it looks as if it might have something not unlike personal political influence. If this is true, Mr. McAdoo was converting his former public positions… into a source of enormous private profit.

  As Teapot Dome attracted more attention, rumors flew that others in the cabinet had been involved in the matter. Some thought that Coolidge, who sat in on cabinet meetings, not only knew what was going on and did nothing about it, but may have been involved himself. Hearing such talk, Coolidge started to move, but cautiously. He dispatched a representative of the Justice Department to observe the committee hearings “on account of certain rumors which came to me,” but that was all he intended to do for the moment. At the January 25 press conference he addressed the Caraway allegations:I don’t recall that the proposal to make a lease of the oil lands was ever discussed in the cabinet, before I became president. I don’t say that it wasn’t. But I don’t recall. I think I should have recalled, had it been discussed at any length or referred to.

  To another question Coolidge said that he intended to protect the interests of the country and see to it that wrongdoers were properly punished. He added, “You can’t start a criminal action on mere rumor.” When the Senate called for Denby’s resignation, Coolidge refused to comment.

  The inclusion of Democrats in the developing scandal did not blunt aggressive Democrats and progressive Republicans from furthering the investigation. On Sunday, January 26, Walsh told the Public Lands Committee that he intended to submit a resolution giving the president the authority to cancel the oil leases and appoint an independent special counsel to investigate the entire affair. This would force Coolidge to act, and at the same time prevent him from putting the matter in the hands of Harry Daugherty, who by now was suspected of being heavily involved in all of these affairs. Daugherty was a prime Democratic and progressive Republican target.

  The president was in a delicate position. Nothing he did would mollify progressive Republicans and the Democrats. Moreover, if he moved swiftly and decisively, he would anger Republican conservatives. If he attempted to slow the investigations, he might pacify some conservative Republicans, but it would also stir rumors that he was trying to hide something. If, however, the corruption proved bipartisan, as Doheny suggested it was, and he took an important role in the investigations, Coolidge could win popular support.

  At the time, Coolidge was on the presidential yacht Mayflower conferring with Butler and several other advisors. He returned to the White House and consulted further with members of the Justice Department. Then he dictated a statement that was released to the press. After promising to prosecute any criminal acts, he outlined his plan:I feel the public is entitled to know that in the conduct of such actions no one is shielded for any party, political, or other reasons. As I understand, men are involved who belong to both political parties, and having been advised by the Department of Justice that it is in accord with former precedents, I propose to employ special counsel of high rank, drawn from both political parties, to bring such actions for the enforcement of the law.

  Thus, Coolidge, not Walsh, would take the credit for the next move.

  Secretary Fall appeared before the investigating committee on February 2. He pleaded the Fifth Amendment and refused to testify. Meanwhile, House Majority Leader Nicholas Longworth noted that Wilson’s navy secretary, Josephus Daniels, had also removed land from the public domain and sold it to private interests.

  Coolidge next did something that would become quite familiar in Washington half a century later: he searched for special counsels to investigate the matters. On January 29 he named former Attorney General Thomas Gregory, a Democrat, and Silas Strawn, a Republican, but both men’s names had to be withdrawn because of Gregory’s prior connections with Doheny, while Strawn was rejected by the Public Lands Commission. At that point George Pepper suggested that Coolidge consider Owen Roberts, a distinguished Philadelphia lawyer. At Coolidge’s request, Roberts came to the White House and Coolidge interviewed him. It went well; “I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t appoint this man,” the president said, and he did. To balance things, the second counsel was to be former Democratic Ohio Senator Atlee Pomerane. Both men were confirmed, and set to work. With this, the matter was taken out of Walsh’s hands, and by so acting Coolidge did much to defuse Teapot Dome as a credible issue in the 1924 election. Quickly most of the leases were declared invalid, and the two counsels moved to liquidate the private holdings.

  With this done, Democratic Senator Joseph Robinson of Arkansas called for Denby’s resignation on the grounds of misconduct. His resolution passed, as ten Republicans joined the united Senate Democrats. After consulting with Borah, to whom he had become close, Coolidge sent the Senate a statement that such a resolution was not binding on him. “I do not propose to sacrifice any innocent man for my own welfare, nor do I propose to retain in office any unfit man for my own welfare.” Denby resigned a week later. In his letter accepting the resignation, Coolidge said, “You will go with the knowledge that your honesty and integrity have not been impugned.” By the time all of the evidence was in, the verdict was that Denby had been inept and foolish, but he was not venal or involved with illegal activities.

  Fall’s physicians stated
he was too ill to appear before the committee again. Sinclair followed Fall’s lead by pleading the Fifth Amendment and refusing to testify. The committee’s agenda appeared to have run out. The malefactors had been caught, and now the matter should have gone to the courts. But the committee wanted to inquire about Harry Daugherty, who owned a small amount of Sinclair Oil stock.

  The full force of the Senate Democrats’ focus was on Daugherty. Almost from the start of the Coolidge administration, Borah had recommended that Coolidge rid himself of the attorney general. Daugherty was aware that the Old Guard regarded him as a shady character. When the Teapot Dome and Elk Hill scandals broke, questions were raised as to whether Daugherty had provided Denby and Fall with legal opinions. There were no written opinions on file, and Daugherty denied under oath that he had been asked about the transfers. Were there unwritten opinions? Daugherty said there was no precedent for such practices, and he hadn’t initiated one, but there was a connection to Sinclair, who had made a major contribution to the 1920 campaign and was friendly with Daugherty. The attorney general did help enforce the leases, but that was his job. There was talk, too, that he had grown wealthy while in government, but none of this was proven, and it never became the basis of legal action against him.

  Daugherty must also have reflected that while he had been able to count on Harding’s support due to his role at the convention and their friendship, he had no such relationship with Coolidge, who was a completely different kind of person. Harding might place friendship over ethics, but not the austere Coolidge. There were other signs of their cool relationship. At one point Coolidge indicated to Daugherty he might place him in charge of the investigation, but then turned to Roberts and Pomerane.

  Even so, Coolidge stood by Daugherty. Raymond Robins, a veteran Republican, told Coolidge that he believed getting rid of Daugherty would be a popular move. The president responded:I will not so remove the attorney general, for two reasons. First, it is a sound rule that when the president dies in office, it is the duty of his successor for the remainder of that term to maintain the counselors and policies of the deceased president. Second, I ask you if there is any man in the cabinet for whom—were he still living—President Harding would more surely demand his day in court, would more surely not dismiss because of popular clamor than the man who was his closest personal and political friend? I am satisfied that you are right, the people would be pleased, the party would be helped, my campaign would be advanced, by the summary removal of Mr. Daugherty. We shall have to bear that burden. Regarding my being afraid to dismiss Mr. Daugherty, I can assure you that if the attorney general does any act I regard as wrong while I am president, he will be removed.