The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt

by Edmund Morris

Olaf the King!

  THE ELECTION OF 1895, which cast such sudden shadows over Theodore Roosevelt, threw contrasting beams of light on an old man he had long managed to ignore, but would have to reckon with in future. Thomas Collier Platt was now, after years of powerful obscurity, the undisputed Republican manager of New York State,1 and a major force in the upcoming Presidential contest.

  “The Easy Boss”—as Platt was known for his patient, courteous manner—had entered politics before Roosevelt was born. In 1856 he had been a “campaign troubadour” for John Charles Frémont, the Republican party’s first Presidential candidate.2 He had become a Congressman in 1872, when little Teedie was still stuffing birds on the Nile; he was elected to the U.S. Senate in 1881, about the same time young Theodore first ran up the steps of Morton Hall. Since then the careers of the two men—a quarter of a century apart in age, and diametrically opposed in personality—had intertwined with a closeness remarkable for the fact that they seem never to have actually met.3 Fortune spotlighted now one, now the other after Roosevelt’s election to the New York State Legislature in 1881. Platt was then suffering his darkest hour, having resigned from the Senate in support of Boss Roscoe Conkling’s patronage stand against President Garfield. He had failed at reelection, and withdrew into the wings just as Roosevelt took his bow in the Assembly. During the years that followed, Platt worked quietly offstage to assume control of the state Republican organization. In 1884 he had been one of the New York delegates to the Chicago Convention. While Roosevelt campaigned for Edmunds, Platt campaigned for Blaine, seconding his nomination and disbursing large amounts of “boodle” on his behalf. He and Roosevelt had joined forces in making Blaine’s nomination unanimous on the final day, but the older man’s triumph was the younger man’s humiliation. Then it was Roosevelt’s turn to retire from public life, while Platt continued his takeover of the organization. Two years later, when Roosevelt ran for Mayor, Platt reluctantly put his machine to work for him. He was disgusted at the “boy” candidate’s defeat: like Roosevelt, he preferred not to recall that disaster in later years.4

  “A decent man must oppose him.”

  Thomas Collier Platt in the 1890s. (Illustration 20.1)

  Platt’s political luster faded again in 1888, when Benjamin Harrison allegedly promised him a Cabinet post in return for campaign help, only to forget about it after the election. Instead, the Easy Boss had the chagrin of seeing Roosevelt made Civil Service Commissioner, and go on to publicize a cause for which he, Platt, had nothing but contempt.5 For the next six years he had watched Roosevelt’s progress with disapproval, tempered by a certain amount of professional respect.

  It had been Platt’s organization that swept William Strong into office in 1894, and he was none too pleased when the Mayor appointed Theodore Roosevelt as Police Commissioner. Platt wished to use the Police Board (in its capacity as Board of Elections) to gerrymander the city, as he already had the state; but Roosevelt’s gritty idealism began to interfere with the smooth workings of his machine. Roosevelt, in turn, declared that he was “astounded” at Platt’s success “in identifying himself with the worst men and worst forces in every struggle, so that a decent man must oppose him.”6

  A confrontation between Boss and Commissioner was therefore inevitable. Both men, in effect, had been preparing for it for eleven years,7 but they waited until the 1895 election to determine who would have the upper hand. Even then, Platt bided his time. With both houses of the Legislature now firmly under control, he was gearing up his organization for the most massive gerrymander in American history—in which the eradication of a Theodore Roosevelt would be merely incidental. Platt’s ambition was to combine old New York (Manhattan and the Bronx) with Brooklyn, Queens, and Staten Island into the metropolis of Greater New York. This would automatically double his powers of patronage. The present Police Department would be abolished, along with those of Fire and Health, and replaced by metropolitan commissions, which he would pack with organization appointees. It went without saying that under such legislation the “side-door saloons” would flourish once more—but on behalf of the Republican party for a change.8

  Roosevelt had no immediate doom to fear from the Greater New York Bill, for the earliest consolidation date would be 1 January, 1898. But then he began to hear rumors that Platt was drawing up a supplementary bill which would legislate him out of office long before that. Unable to stand the suspense, he asked his old friend and organization contact, Joe Murray, to arrange an interview with the Easy Boss.9 Early in the New Year word came back that Platt would see him in the Fifth Avenue Hotel on Sunday, 19 January 1896.

  LIKE THE LORD, Platt was wont to receive the faithful, and hear their supplications, on the Sabbath. This was not due to any messiah complex on his part: Sunday was simply the most convenient day for out-of-town legislators, big businessmen, and overworked Police Commissioners to visit him. Still, there was something quaintly religious about the little knot of worshipers that gathered every seventh day outside his sanctuary; regular attendants like Quigg, “Smooth Ed” Lauterbach, and Chauncey Depew were nicknamed “Platt’s Sunday School Class.” After seeing the old man they settled on plush sofas at the end of the corridor to await his decisions. This niche was called the “Amen” corner, on the grounds that no other response was possible once Platt had made up his mind. Presidents Lincoln, Grant, Hayes, Garfield, Arthur, and Harrison had all sat here, as well as James G. Blaine, who, in Platt’s opinion, “ought to have been President.”10 Roosevelt might have been excused some feeling of trepidation in following such august predecessors. If not, the sight of the Easy Boss was enough to give any young man pause.

  Platt was then in his sixty-third year, and moved (when he moved at all) with the painful majesty of arthritis. Tall, stooped, bearded, and murmuring, he looked like some political Rip van Winkle who had fallen asleep in a more leisurely age, and had woken to find the new one not much to his liking. His handshake was loose, his jaw slack, even his skin seemed tired; it creased down on either side of his nose, and drooped in parchment-like folds over his large sad eyes. Oddly enough, for a man whose desk was always piled with dusty papers and pamphlets, Platt was the perfection of elegance in dress. His suit rippled into place as he rose on his cane, a pearl pin glowed in his silk cravat, and high starched collars scratched against his silvery jowls.11

  Roosevelt was not deceived by this world-weary image, for Platt was known to be as tough in mind as he was frail in body.12 After some brief discussion of national affairs—the equivalent, among state politicians, of talk about the weather—the Commissioner asked point-blank if he was to be “kicked out by supplementary legislation after the Greater New York Bill had passed.” Platt’s reply was equally direct. “Yes.” Roosevelt could expect to be unemployed in about sixty days.13

  Afterward, Roosevelt searched for adjectives to describe the interview. It was, he decided, “entirely pleasant and cold-blooded.”14

  HE ALSO DECIDED that since he was now in “a fair fight” for survival, he would pick up Platt’s gauntlet in public.15 It so happened that the following morning, 20 January, he was due to address the New York Methodist Ministers’ Association at 150 Fifth Avenue. Knowing they were sympathetic to his crusade against the saloons, Roosevelt shrewdly presented himself as Christianity’s last hope in Gomorrah:

  The other day the most famous gambler in New York, long known as one of the most prominent criminals in this city, was reported as saying that by February everything would again “be running wide open”; in other words, that the gambler, the disorderly-house keeper, and the lawbreaking liquor-seller would be plying their trades once more … Undoubtedly there are many politicians who are bent on seeing this … they will bend every energy to destroy us, because they recognize in us their deadly foes … The politician who wishes to use the Police Department for his own base purposes, and the criminal and the trafficker in vice … are quite right in using every effort to drive us out of office. It is for you decent people to
say whether or not they shall succeed.16

  If he had unveiled a giant effigy of Boss Platt with horns and a tail, he could not have more effectively mobilized the ministers. Convinced that Armageddon was at hand, they hurried off to denounce the Easy Boss from pulpits all over the city. The Methodist lobby in Albany warned legislators of “disastrous consequences politically” if they pursued the “foolish and wicked course” of punishing a public servant for doing his duty. Other ecclesiastical, liberal, and independent Republican organizations added their voices, and within forty-eight hours the popular outcry against Platt was deafening. “Roosevelt’s a nervy fellow, isn’t he?” said Mayor Strong admiringly.17 Strong was beginning to regret his earlier jibes and threats against Roosevelt, perhaps because he realized that the Commissioner, however controversial, was his only really distinguished appointment. He may also have pondered Richard Croker’s widely quoted remark, “Roosevelt is all there is to the Strong Administration, and Roosevelt will make it or break it.” At any rate the Mayor was effusive in his approval of Roosevelt’s speech, and announced that he would resist any moves against the present Police Board.18

  On 23 and 24 January The New York Times published full details of “the Republican Plot to Oust Roosevelt,” identifying Platt and his lieutenants by name, and denouncing them as “contemptible … sneaking cowards and hypocrites.” The effect of these front-page, double-column articles was to give chapter and verse to Roosevelt’s allegations, and draw national attention to the threat of a party split in New York. Platt was severely embarrassed. If he wished to be a force at the upcoming Republican National Convention, he must at all costs preside over a united delegation. His anti-Roosevelt bill was accordingly withdrawn from the Legislature, although it was understood it could be revived at any time.19

  Roosevelt said he was “delighted” to have been reprieved, but carefully refrained from making any further attacks on Boss Platt. “I shall not break with the party,” he confided to Lodge. “The Presidential contest is too important.”20

  Commissioner Andrews also expressed “very great pleasure,” and Commissioner Grant rumbled something to the same effect.21 Only Commissioner Parker was silent.

  COINCIDENTALLY OR NOT, Roosevelt now discovered that he had an open enemy on the Police Board. A friendly newspaper editor had long ago warned that Andrew D. Parker was “a snake in the grass, and sooner or later he will smite you,”22 but Roosevelt was so taken in by the man’s “sinister efficiency” he had never really believed it. A Republican ward worker had also informed him that “Parker could not be trusted … that he was not loyal to him as head of the Commission.” Roosevelt laughed. “Not loyal to me? Impossible. Why, only yesterday I boxed with him, and he boxes like a gentleman!”23 True, there had been an occasion in October 1895 when he heard rumors that Parker was criticizing the dry-Sunday campaign behind his back, while praising it to his face. More recently, Parker had several times lied to him with such “brazen effrontery” as to leave Roosevelt speechless. Yet there had been no direct hostility at Board meetings—not that Parker attended many—and the department continued to operate smoothly well into the New Year.24 Not until five weeks after Roosevelt’s successful appeal to the Methodist ministers did the snake rear up and strike for the first time.

  At a routine Board meeting on 28 February 1896, Roosevelt brought up the routine subject of promotions.25 Due to mass resignations over the past nine months, by corrupt officers anxious to escape criminal investigation, the force was studded with “acting” inspectors, captains, sergeants, and roundsmen.26 The Commissioners acted periodically to make at least some of these promotions permanent, and there had been little dissent as to which officers deserved full rank and pay.

  Thus, when Roosevelt moved the promotions of Acting Inspectors Nicholas Brooks and John McCullagh, two men known for their decency and efficiency, he doubtless expected the usual unanimous vote. But Commissioner Parker demurred. There were other officers, he said, just as worthy of advancement; for example, an excellent man in the Detective Bureau, which he, Parker, had just finished reorganizing.27

  Roosevelt protested in dismay. Brooks and McCullagh had been “acting” now for nine months; the force was expecting their immediate promotion; “it was not keeping faith with the men” to delay matters any longer. He insisted that the motion be voted on. Commissioners Andrews and Grant added their ayes to his. Commissioner Parker refused to vote at all.

  Had the motion been on some trivial item of agenda, such as the issuance of a mask ball license, or the sale of a police horse, Parker would have been overruled by the majority. But on matters of promotion the Board’s “Polish” constitution required a full vote of four—or, three votes plus the written approval of Chief Conlin.28 Roosevelt was puzzled and frustrated. He did not like to resolve a Board dispute by enlisting the aid of a man in the ranks. However, since Parker was adamant—and remained absent from the next few meetings—the other Commissioners had no choice but to summon Conlin before them on 12 March. They were confident that he would be agreeable. Unlike his formidable predecessor, Chief Byrnes, Conlin was a quiet, unassuming officer who generally did what he was told.29 Roosevelt asked bluntly if he would recommend the promotion of Brooks and McCullagh. Conlin replied that he would not.30

  What was more, the Chief went on, he would no longer tolerate promotions or assignments within the force unless they were submitted to him in advance. He had not exercised this, his legal right, in the past, but in future he would insist upon it.

  It was evident to the three flabbergasted Commissioners that they were listening to the voice, not of Peter Conlin, but of their absent colleague. For some reason, Parker wished to stop the reorganization of the force, and by some power he had been able to recruit Conlin as his ally. Whatever his motives, the consequences threatened to be serious. Already the failure of Roosevelt’s 28 February motion was having its effect on police morale. Some “acting” officers, pessimistic of advancement under a deadlocked Board, refused to act at all until they got job security. Those who did try to give orders found the lack of gold on their sleeves acutely embarrassing. The Commissioners were obliged to pass a resolution on 13 March ordering Conlin to make a formal reply to their request in writing, as required by law.31

  That very evening Parker was due to dine with Roosevelt at 689 Madison Avenue, in response to a long-standing invitation.32 Under the circumstances a note expressing polite regrets might have been understandable, but none was forthcoming, and at the appointed hour Parker coolly showed up. It is unlikely either he or his host so much as mentioned the Brooks-McCullagh affair. Their social relations were still cordial,33 and both men were too well-bred to argue over the dinner table. Besides, there were four other guests, including the Reverend Charles H. Parkhurst, president of the Society for the Prevention of Crime, and Roosevelt’s good friend Joseph Bucklin Bishop, an editor of the Evening Post. The subjects discussed were mainly political—“Platt, Tammany, reorganization, political treachery, the German vote, etc.”34 Roosevelt must have hogged the conversation as usual, for Parker was in an ill humor by the end of the evening. Walking home with Bishop, he suddenly said, “I wish you would stop him talking so much in the newspapers. He talks, talks, talks all the time. Scarcely a day passes that there is not something from him in the papers … and the public is getting tired of it. It injures our work.”

  Bishop laughed. “Stop Roosevelt talking! Why, you would kill him. He has to talk. The peculiarity about him is that he has what is essentially a boy’s mind. What he thinks he says at once, says aloud. It is his distinguishing characteristic, and I don’t know as he will ever outgrow it. But with it he has great qualities which make him an invaluable public servant—inflexible honesty, absolute fearlessness, and devotion to good government which amounts to religion. We must let him work his way, for nobody can induce him to change it.”

  Parker received this speech in cold silence.35

  AT NOON THE FOLLOWING DAY Roosevelt tele
phoned Bishop and invited him to lunch. In the latter’s words:

  As soon as we were seated at a narrow table he leaned forward, bringing his face close to mine, and with appalling directness said, “Parker came into my office this morning and said, ‘You think Bishop is a friend of yours, don’t you?’ ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Well, you know what he said about you last night? He said you had a boy’s mind and it might never be developed.’ ”

  Roosevelt’s eye-glasses were within three inches of my face, and his eyes were looking straight into mine. Knowing my man, I did not flinch. “Roosevelt, I did say that. Did he tell you what else I said?” “No, that is what I want to hear.” When I told him, he brought his fist down on the table with a bang, exclaiming, “By George, I knew it!” “There, Roosevelt,” said I, “is your snake in the grass, of which I warned you—the meanest of mean liars, who tells half the truth.”36

  If nothing else, this incident served to prove Parker’s duplicity to Roosevelt. He reacted as he always reacted—aggressively—but, as in a nightmare, found that he had no weapon to wield, no target to hit. Parker continued to stay away from Board meetings, and when Roosevelt rescheduled some to suit his convenience, maddeningly stayed away from those too. Meanwhile Chief Conlin ignored the Board’s order to report on Brooks and McCullagh, saying that the Commissioners must resolve their own differences. Roosevelt promptly appealed to the Corporation Counsel for an interpretation of the law, and was told that Parker and Conlin were perfectly within their rights. They could block every major decision of the board for the rest of the century, if they chose. On 24 March, headlines in the yellow press began to mock Roosevelt’s impotence: “His the Voice of Authority, But Parker’s the Hand that Holds the Rod.”37

  CONSIDERABLE SPACE was devoted to analyses of the deadlock at Mulberry Street that spring, and as reporters did their research some interesting facts came to light. It transpired that Parker had begun to amass power in the department from the day he took office. Quietly establishing control over the Detective Bureau38—the most feared in the world, outside of Scotland Yard—he now enjoyed as much potential influence in the underworld as Chief Byrnes had ever done. Just what use, if any, he intended to make of it remained to be seen. His hold over Chief Conlin was traced back to a bargain struck between them the previous year. Apparently Parker had withheld his vote confirming Conlin39 until that officer was so desperate for permanent rank he had consented to pay the price: a promise of cooperation in any future moves against Roosevelt.