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| ISBN-13: | 9781250106599 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | St. Martin's Publishing Group |
| Publication date: | 03/26/2024 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 273 |
| Sales rank: | 125,923 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
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FDR and His Enemies
By Albert Fried
St. Martin's Press
Copyright © 1999 Albert FriedAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-250-10659-9
CHAPTER 1
Winning the Prize
AL SMITH
On New Year's Day 1911 Franklin D. Roosevelt arrived in Albany to attend the inauguration of the new governor, fellow Democrat John A. Dix, and take his seat in the state senate to which he recently had been elected.
He was lucky to have won that election. His district, which was made up mostly of farms and villages — and his Hyde Park ancestral home — had gone Democratic only once since the Civil War, and then only for two years. The local Democratic bosses had agreed to put him up because he was such an engaging young man — actually not so young as he looked: he was 28 and had been practicing law without noticeable success in New York City — and possessed such a famous name, the enormously popular ex-President being his distant cousin. Nor was it Franklin Roosevelt's abilities on the stump and personal charm that got him elected. It was the deepening schism within Republican ranks throughout the state and nation between the old guard, or "standpatters," and the insurgents, or progressives, with cousin Theodore lending his enormous prestige to the latter. That was why the 1910 election proved so bountiful for state Democrats, winning as they did not only the governor's chair but both houses of the legislature, something they had not done in 18 years. They had a lot of catching up to do when they convened in Albany.
Now the state Democratic Party was run by New York City's ageless machine, Tammany Hall, byword and symbol across America for corrupt politics, the target, closer to home, of reformers and mugwumps and men of ambition of every stripe. Over the decades opposition to Tammany had nourished many careers (and would do so for decades to come). Its "grand sachem," its boss of bosses, as everyone knew, was Charles Francis Murphy, the most astute and highly regarded chief the "Wigwam" ever had in its long, checkered career. Murphy moved cautiously and unobtrusively behind the scenes, performing with great skill his task of keeping the organization intact — reconciling its numerous, often warring, factions, acquiring jobs and emoluments for its faithful, keeping its army of foes at bay, and appeasing public opinion. His ability to carry out that task could not be faulted, least of all by his adversaries. Tammany controlled the city and state governments and, given the drift of events, might have a good deal to say about who the next President of the United States would be. The organization was riding high and Boss Murphy was at the top of his bent.
Franklin D. Roosevelt was one of the Democratic insurgents. That is, he counted himself among Tammany's critics or enemies. Ideologically, he stood closer to the progressive wing of the other party than to the dominant wing of his own. He also felt that government at every level must discipline the special interests, economic and political, and that the people must participate more actively in overseeing the affairs of state and choosing their leaders — not only electing them but nominating and if necessary recalling them as well. These and like reforms, central to the progressive agenda everywhere in America, were of course anathema to Tammany. And even if Roosevelt had lacked those convictions he still would have been an insurgent, publicly at least, for the obvious reason that his solidly Republican district would have required him to be one.
Several other Democrats from similar upstate districts shared his aversion for Tammany, and together they constituted a sufficiently large group to deny the party establishment a working majority in one or both of the houses (provided, that is, Murphy reached no accommodation with his Republican counterparts). This much, at any rate, was certain: Democratic nay sayers like Franklin D. Roosevelt were seeking an issue on which to take a stand against the bugbear of their constituencies.
The issue in fact arose almost at once. The legislature had to elect a United States Senator (the Seventeenth Amendment having not yet passed). That he would be a Democrat went without saying; both houses combined gave the party a substantial majority (114 to 86). It was an election Murphy and the machine eagerly anticipated. The office of United States Senator was rich in patronage: judges, court clerks, marshals, post office appointees, custom officials, and so on and on. After much deliberation Tammany decided on William "Blue-eyed Billy" Sheehan, whose primary or exclusive claim to distinction was the amount of money he contributed to Democratic Party coffers and the fact that he was less unacceptable than the representatives of the other factions. But he was totally unacceptable to the insurgents, whose leader and main spokesman happened to be Senator Roosevelt. Why Roosevelt came to hold this position his many biographers have failed to make clear. Presumably his name and social status and kinship with the legendary ex-President had much to do with it. No doubt he wished to demonstrate virtues of his own: he was handsome and personable, high-spirited and tirelessly energetic. He also proved to be a clever tactician, for it was he who orchestrated the maneuvers which thwarted Tammany's plans. The press, always happy to beard the tiger, gave the affair extensive coverage and singled out Roosevelt for special praise, comparing him to Theodore, who had also started out in the New York legislature as a party rebel nearly 30 years ago.
Murphy and company found little to praise of course. They beheld in their midst a dandified aristocrat, scion of an old Hudson Valley patroon family, a graduate of the best schools, namely Groton and Harvard, upper class in locution and manner — he would habitually throw back his head when he talked and look down through pince-nez glasses — in short, an English squire among the Irish peasantry. "Awfully arrogant fellow that Roosevelt," said one of them, Lower East Side boss Timothy F. "Big Tim" Sullivan, summing up the impression conveyed by this dabbler in politics, this amateur who had drifted into their bailiwick and would soon return to a more comfortable abode.
On the face of it such an impression was justified. Until he entered the legislature Roosevelt had never stepped outside the bounds of exclusivity in which he had been born and raised; he had even married another Roosevelt. Cousin Theodore, by the time he was 29, had cut a broad swath through life, had already revealed indomitable will and ambition: he had been a maverick in the state assembly, a rancher on the North Dakota frontier, a candidate for New York City mayor in a famous and long-remembered campaign, a police commissioner, the author of several volumes of American history and biography. Compared to Theodore Roosevelt, Franklin seemed a flash in the pan, a fluke, a nonentity.
So he may have been, but in the teeth of every wile and stratagem the organization could devise the ranks of his men held fast. The stalemate persisted week in and week out, forcing Tammany to seek a compromise with Roosevelt and the insurgents before the legislative session ended. Whatever the outcome, whoever replaced Blue-eyed Billy Sheehan, it was clear to the outside world that Roosevelt had won the battle. There might have been more to him than the pols saw — or more that he permitted them to see.
Conducting the negotiations with Roosevelt was one of Boss Murphy's most trusted lieutenants, the assembly majority leader, Alfred Emmanuel Smith. Of Smith it could be said that he, like Roosevelt, was an "ideal type," that he no less faithfully than the Brahmin from Hyde Park embodied the universe in which he moved and had his being. That universe was Manhattan's Lower East Side, or that portion of it — facing the river in the shadow of the newly built Brooklyn Bridge (whose christening in 1883 he witnessed as a lad of 10) — which remained Irish well into the twentieth century, the rest of the area having fallen to Jews and Italians and other immigrants. He was a good boy who attended parochial schools, went to church regularly, rarely got into trouble, and from the age of 13, when his father died, worked long hours in one job after another to help support his mother and sister. In keeping with neighborhood tradition he spent whatever time he could spare at the local Democratic club and in back of the saloon that Tom Foley, the huge, moon-faced boss of the Fourth Ward, owned on Water Street. While politics came as easily to countless other young men in the community as it did to Smith, his oratorical talents — his voice, he claimed, "could be heard a block away in spite of the rattle of the horse cars and the general racket of city noises" — and his winning personality inevitably brought him to Foley's attention. He put in time as a process server (tracking down qualified men to sit on juries) and then, in 1902, was nominated and of course elected to the assembly from his district.
Even before meeting Smith, Roosevelt must have known he was no mere Tammany hack, that he was quite unlike his legislative confreres — those who would show up occasionally for a vote and draw their $1,500 annual salary, no small sum in those days, aside from other benefactions. Smith was from the start a conscientious member of the assembly. He sedulously learned the issues, especially those dealing with social problems and the condition of the working class, sat in the committees to which he was assigned, read the bills thoroughly, and debated on the floor with increasing skill and authority. Colleagues on both sides of the aisle came to appreciate his first-rate mind, able to call up and marshal an army of statistics, his lively wit, and above all his trustworthiness and integrity. He was one of the most effective legislators, an anomaly among Democrats, and just the sort of politician Murphy was seeking out to furbish Tammany's image. Hence his rise in the assembly.
If Roosevelt was impressed there is no sign of it. Roosevelt might have acknowledged the distinction between Smith and the lesser Tammanyites, but it would have been to his mind a distinction without a difference. He pretty much saw Smith as Smith saw him: through dark distorting lenses. In viewing each other stereotypically they were blinded to the real person and his capacities.
Tammany did finally produce a candidate who was acceptable to the insurgents and whom the legislature promptly approved as Senator. There is some indication that Murphy may have had the last laugh after all — that he really had opposed Sheehan but could not openly do so for fear of offending an important segment of the party. The blame for choosing someone else could therefore be ascribed to Roosevelt and his followers. Be that as it may, the public considered the incident a defeat for Tammany and credited Roosevelt with having caused it. The news of his accomplishments traveled well beyond the precincts of his grateful district.
He quickly garnered the rewards. In 1912 he handily won a second term even though a protracted illness kept him from campaigning. A year later he joined the new Wilson administration in Washington as Assistant Secretary of the Navy, a post which, by further coincidence, his cousin Theodore had also once occupied. So far as the regular Democrats were concerned it was good riddance to this nuisance. A persistent one, it might be added: he ran as a Wilsonian, or progressive, Democratic against the machine in the 1914 primary for United States Senator. This time his insurgency failed him, and he received a sound drubbing, an object lesson in how Murphy dealt with recusants. So Roosevelt stayed with the Navy Department for the next six years, utilizing his position to political advantage. True to family tradition, he was a staunch advocate of preparedness and all-out war even before it came. His enlarged responsibilities took him to every part of the country, enabling him to get acquainted with its leading politicians, to a number of whom he was already a name to reckon with.
But his broad-based appeal meant little in itself in the absence of a viable home base. He was thus forced to confront the paradox of his success. He had risen this far on the strength of his opposition to the Tammany machine. To continue opposing Tammany would delight its foes, who were legion to be sure, but at the sacrifice of his career. He would be another mugwump carping and scolding on the sidelines, waiting for something to turn up.
He accordingly made a shift in his political strategy. More accurately, the shift urged itself on him, his choice — Canossa or retirement from politics — being for a man of his ambition no choice at all.
The change of direction was occasioned by Tammany's amazing show of resilience and tenacity. For a time it appeared as if the mighty Wigwam might collapse in a heap. Following sensational scandals of police corruption, drawn-out trials, and the executions of four gangsters and the police captain on whose behalf they had murdered a gambler, New York City and State reform governments were swept into power on a tide of public indignation. That was in 1913 and 1914. The demise of the infamy seemed at hand. In 1917, however, Tammany recaptured New York City and a year later, to universal surprise, the New York State governorship. What was more, the new governor was that true and avowed child of the organization, Alfred E. Smith.
Doubly astonishing to the Roosevelts of America was Smith's performance in office. He was a model of probity, and so were his appointees, a surprisingly high number of whom were men and women — emphasis on women — of distinction in their own right. Despite a Republican legislature Smith gave a virtuoso account of himself, getting an assortment of social reforms passed and, especially to his credit, standing up for civil liberties during those dark hours of the red scare, when it was unpopular to do so. Smith may have had little sympathy for radicalism, but he was too familiar with radicals — the Lower East Side probably having produced more of them than any community in the land — to be taken in by the prevailing fear, the hysterical alarums and excursions. This quintessential Tammanyite, then, was proving to be a first-rate governor, cast in the mold of such progressive governors as Wisconsin's Robert La Follette and New Jersey's Woodrow Wilson.
Roosevelt therefore had fewer compunctions in coming to terms with the chieftains of the New York Democracy. And they for their part showed a certain magnanimity in letting him back in. They demanded nothing of him beyond his acquiescence in the fact that a phase of history had run its course, that the spirit of insurgency had yielded to the spirit of "normalcy" (this well before Warren G. Harding coined the word). Roosevelt's former adversaries could afford to be generous toward him. Because he was fairly harmless now they readily accepted him as the party's vice presidential candidate at the San Francisco national convention of 1920, Smith himself delivering one of the seconding speeches. What could be better than having him run for an office of no consequence on a doomed ticket? It must have given the hard-boiled men of Tammany quite a laugh. And if by a miracle the ticket should win he would be safely immured in Washington.
Roosevelt's willingness to make the run arose from the same impulse which dictated reconciliation with Boss Murphy and company. For his was a two-pronged strategy. Securing the home base — propitiating Tammany — was one. Cultivating anti-Tammany politicos was the other. He had been cultivating them as Assistant Secretary of the Navy, and he cultivated them more strenuously while campaigning for the vice presidency. Friendships previously acquired throughout the country were reinforced and new ones acquired. It was hard not to like the tall, handsome, eupeptic young man (only 38), so well spoken and earnest, bearer of the illustrious name (Theodore having died in 1919), who delivered an average of seven speeches a day. Of course he appeared to love every second of the grueling campaign. The tremendous defeat of the whole ticket — it was the Republican Party's greatest landslide — personally hurt him not a whit.
He scrupulously kept up those friendships even after polio struck him down in the summer of 1921, leaving him, after a long, painful recovery, unable to use his legs except with the help of very heavy metal braces, and then only minimally. The files in his library are packed with letters he wrote to well-wishers across America, most of them politicians he had met since going to Washington. They were artfully composed letters, revealing as they did the knowledgeable interest he took in their affairs. It was an heroic endeavor on his part, his way of combating the fatigue, debilitation, and depression that enveloped him, and refuting the widely held assumption — held certainly by the members of his innermost family — that his public life was over and done with.
The one person who never shared that assumption was his intimate advisor and retainer and amanuensis, the gnomish, sickly, irascible Louis McHenry Howe. Howe had abandoned his own successful career as a political reporter in 1912 to serve Roosevelt heart and soul, becoming the jealously indefatigable guardian of Roosevelt's hopes. He made it his business to compile extensive dossiers on everyone who ever crossed Roosevelt's path and see to it that Roosevelt kept constantly in touch with all of them. Howe had from the start set his sights on the presidency.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from FDR and His Enemies by Albert Fried. Copyright © 1999 Albert Fried. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Table of Contents
Introduction: Politics and Popularity * Winning the Prize * The First New Deal * Roosevelt Triumphant * The Isolationist Impulse * Denouement
What People are Saying About This
“Fried's thesis is fresh and . . . a valuable addition to understanding how Roosevelt maintained confidence in the federal government while winning re-election three times.” —Publishers Weekly
“Fried masterfully weaves a fascinating and important history in prose that reflects the basis for his two previous Pulitzer Prize nominations.” —Library Journal
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