Raintree County

by Ross Lockridge

  The campaign was probably the most colorful ever conducted in Raintree County. John Shawnessy ran on an Independent ticket, aided in his campaign by the fact that a great many former Republicans were fed up with the corruptions of Grantism and the failures of Radical Reconstruction. Garwood Jones ran on the straightline Republican ticket. He had the backing of the Clarion, which he now owned and edited himself, while John Shawnessy had the backing of the Free Enquirer, which had become a non-partisan paper during Andrew Johnson’s administration. There was also a Democratic paper in the County and a Democratic Candidate, but the campaign turned out to be a horse-race between Garwood B. Jones and John W. Shawnessy.

  John Shawnessy conducted his campaign by riding around the country after school and talking to crowds everywhere. His speeches were short and simple and often humorous. At the same time, he wrote many trenchant articles in the Enquirer. Perhaps his greatest weakness was the fact that he was a political upstart, an anomaly, an independent. In general, Raintree County was skeptical of anyone who didn’t belong to one of the time-honored parties. Thus Garwood B. Jones, who had done a complete turntail from one party to another, had the advantage of John W. Shawnessy, who belonged to no party at all.

  The Independent Candidate didn’t promise the usual things to the usual groups. He avoided the now familiar issues of protection and free trade, internal improvements, western lands, cheap money, control of the railroads, reconstruction, and the elimination of waste and corruption in the Federal machinery. He said frankly that he was campaigning simply for a better America, and he set about in his speeches and writings to tell the people of Raintree County what kind of America he thought it would be. Much of his platform was sheerly visionary; and even his most practical planks were regarded as revolutionary. He came out strongly for woman suffrage, protection of the laborer in his economic rights, relaxation of restrictions on divorce, legislative curbs on the big capitalists. He soon built up a following, especially among school children and women (none of whom had a vote) and among the independent voters of the County, of whom there were few.

  At first Garwood didn’t take his old rival’s campaign seriously, anticipating more trouble from the Democratic candidate, but people in general liked John Shawnessy, and little by little his name and fame, already not unknown to Raintree County, spread to the outlying districts. After a while Garwood, who hadn’t lost an election since his entry into politics in 1860, became worried and turned the whole force of his attack loose on the Independent Candidate. It was a formidable assault.

  Garwood’s campaign style was slambang and resourceful. He was adept at mining every vote-rich stratum of American society. His manner was sacred or profane as occasion required. He was known as a damn-good-guy and a fellow-who-gets-things-done.

  Garwood was a talented artist of the campaign smear. Although he himself avoided signed or public attacks on the character of his opponent (to whom he always referred in the best tradition of American sportsmanship, as ‘my dear young friend, John Shawnessy’), he permitted various libels to be circulated by his henchmen. Gradually he created a picture of the Independent Candidate as an improvident dreamer, an upstart experimenter, a vapid visionary, an overbrilliant and hence impractical scholar.

  In addition, someone succeeded in circulating the impression that John Shawnessy was guilty of the two greatest sins in the black book of Raintree County—Atheism and Adultery.

  An atheist was anyone who didn’t believe in the stern old God of Raintree County and in the literal truth of the Bible, word for word. On this charge, the Independent Candidate convicted himself over and over out of his own mouth, and it was nothing short of a marvel that he had any supporters left at all. What took the sting out was the fact that he always created an impression of impregnable innocence and goodness, while Garwood’s strongest supporters never concealed the fact (in fact they gloried in it) that their candidate could beat the Devil himself at his own game, while always remaining within the letter of the law.

  The second charge—that of adultery—wasn’t so dangerous politically. The libel, purposefully vague, seemed to acquire support from the fact that John Shawnessy was known to be married but not living with his wife. Besides there had been a number of affairs involving young women under his instruction. The plain truth was that John Shawnessy was never associated with an unattached young woman very long before she began to sleep badly at night, dress more attractively than her income permitted, and investigate in secrecy the exact relationship existing between Mr. Shawnessy and his reputed wife. As for him, it was his curse, as a Shawnessy, to feel a strong interest in every woman of unusual charm whom he saw, and during his long period of enforced chastity after the War, it wouldn’t have been surprising if he sometimes, in the passion of his young manhood, yielded to temptations more frequent and strong for him than for any other man in Raintree County. But if he did transgress the code of Raintree County and find forbidden loves in those fleeting years after the War, if there were letters written and burned, if there were broken hearts (for women who once conceived a passion for the Hero of Raintree County had a time getting over it), unusual discretion must have been shown on both sides.

  Certain it is that during this time no passion occurred in John Shawnessy’s life that could compensate him for one that he had been obliged to bury with the defunct Johnny, that brave young casualty of the Great War, so fragrantly interred in Garwood’s poem.

  As for the charge of adultery, insinuated by Garwood’s henchmen, it invited retaliation. In fact, there was a story in the County about a handsome young matron who forsook husband and children in order to follow Garwood to Chicago, where she turned up tactlessly in the middle of a political convention and expressed a willingness to run away with the lionhaired young orator from Indiana, offering a public sacrifice of her family, her honor, and her good name (and his). Some said that there had been a highly dramatic scene in a lobby of one of Chicago’s leading hotels, and a great political career had hung in the balance until Garwood’s golden tongue and majestic presence somehow managed to stifle the lady and the scandal. For some reason, this story improved Garwood’s election chances.

  As Election Day neared and it looked as though Garwood was in real danger of being defeated, resort was made by his party to the war issue, still the strongest plank in the Republican platform. Garwood, who had changed parties at the end of the War and had volunteered just in time to get a colonelcy and avoid combat, waved the bloody shirt from every platform in the district. Somehow or other he won a more or less official backing from the G.A.R. and managed to be seen often surrounded by men in uniform, who referred to him respectfully as Colonel Jones.

  As for the Independent Candidate, who had fought from Chattanooga to the Sea, he was, oddly enough, handicapped by the fact that he had once been reported dead in battle and had been picturesquely lamented and interred in all the papers of the County. His unexpected return at the end of the War had created a minor sensation, but it left a faint impression that John Shawnessy had somehow cheated Fate and had got a great deal more credit than he was entitled to. Without a single open statement, Garwood labored hard to create the impression that the Independent Candidate’s war record, which had turned out to be erroneous in at least one very important particular, would not bear close investigation in other respects.

  There was even a squib in the Democratic paper (where Garwood cleverly planted his most poisonous barbs) to the effect that a certain handsome and romantic candidate for the office of representative had acquired the scar on his left shoulder, not, as was reported, in combat with Sherman’s Army, but from a drunken brawl in a Louisville hotel.

  Of course, some of Garwood’s measures were in sheer self-defense, as both the rival parties threw a merciless light on the Colonel’s belated and unperilous entry into the fray. The Democratic paper, taking advantage of the mysterious middle initial, that had only recently turned up in Garwood’s name, always referred to him as Colonel Gar
wood Battleshy Jones, while the Enquirer carried a delightful anecdote, which, though unsigned, bore the touch of Will Westward, recounting the most dangerous combat experience of Garwood’s military service. One day, it appeared, the Colonel had led a regiment of trainees, armed with broomsticks and tin cans, against a haystack. According to the story, Colonel Jones and his men were repulsed, outwitted, routed, and driven in panic from the field by an irate housewife who had a tabby and a litter of kittens in the stack. Garwood himself was credited with great coolness under fire, exceptional gallantry, and valor beyond the call of duty.

  When all was said and done, Garwood’s most powerful weapon was his persistent ridicule of the mystical pretensions in the Independent Candidate’s platform. He built his campaign strategy on the proposition that Americans in the year 1872 were thoroughgoing materialists at heart and had no faith in poets and prophets. Here was a typical Dan Populus article from the Clarion during this time.

  NEW MESSIAH DISCOVERED IN RAINTREE COUNTY

  —

  CITIZENS OF COUNTY DISCOVERED TO BE RACE OF

  DEMIGODS

  Wonders never cease in that Canaan of the Cornlands, Shawmucky Township. Apparently the waters of the Upper Shawmucky possess magic properties. At any rate, a few days ago we heard that a young denizen of those parts had lately emerged from a dip in the river and upon studying his lineaments in a frog pond found that he had suddenly acquired the stature and beauty of a god. Forthwith he went out among the people, effusing a strong radiance. It was a hot day, and a tired housewife in the neighborhood, having laced her stays too tight, happened to fall over on her back, heels in the air, just as the young demigod approached. Impressed with his new effulgence, the transformed bumpkin was visited with a gift of tongues and began to prophesy.

  Can anything good come out of the Upper Shawmucky? we asked ourself.

  Well, we sent our trusty researcher, Rube Shucks, up there the other day to investigate the phenomenon. Here is Rube’s own account of the matter:

  ‘Wellsirree, Mr. Populus, I went up thar and sot down in a pigstye where the noo messiah was a-goin’ tew dew his stuff, and I sot and sot, meanwhile exchangifying idees with the local hicks. “What’s his creed,” sez I to an espeshially intellygent member of the cumpney. “The world will be made pure agin,” sez he, settlin’ hisself comfortable in a corner of the stye and diggin’ his bare toze into the ooze thereuv. “Hit’s the Golden Age, mister.” “What dew you expect to git out of it?” sez I. “We is all christs and saints and angles,” sez he, “and never knowed it.”

  ‘I sot and jawed a while with these fokes, when all a sudden I felt the sperrit descendin’ on me. I riz up and said to a lady neerby: “Sister, yore eyes is a puffick shinin’. We air all a-floatin’ in a ocean of luv, puffick luv. Dew I heer laughter from the back row? Cease your vulgar cacchinations, frend. Under your honest blue jeans, I purceeve the puffick proporshuns of a god. Duz anybody know where I kin git a halo at slightly reduced cost?”

  ‘Jist then, everbody stood up and begun to crane their necks and shout and p’int their fingers. “Hyar he cums,” they yelled. “Hyar cums the noo messiah.” I thought my ize would pop right out a my hed tryin’ to see this grate man. “Whar is he?” sez I. “Right thar,” they sez.

  ‘I looked, and, Mr. Populus, so help me God, all I seen wuz old Seth Twigs in a clean shirt, grinnin’ and gestickulatin’ at the crowd. “Shucks,” I sez, “I useter swap lies reglar with that skunk back before the War. But I see he’s clean out a my class now.” ’

  DAN POPULUS

  The climax of the campaign came on the day before the Election when the two rivals agreed to have a debate in the Court House Square of Freehaven. Around two o’clock in the afternoon, the Square was filled with citizens under the majestic shadow of the New Court House, which had just been finished to replace the old one burnt down toward the end of the War.

  As the two candidates and a moderator sat on the platform, both parties conducted a spirited demonstration. A snake-dance, mainly composed of young women and school children, wound around the Court House carrying placards reading:

  VOTE FOR

  JOHN W. SHAWNESSY

  AND A NEW REPUBLIC

  The crude picture on the transparencies looked like Jesus Christ with moosehead mustaches. The Shawnessy supporters were led by a small band that played feebly but together. The snake dancers sang the Shawnessy campaign song:

  —Our Johnny is in the race to win.

  Hurrah! Hurrah!

  Let’s all get busy and vote him in.

  Hurrah! Hurrah!

  The boys will cheer, the men will shout,

  The ladies they will all turn out,

  And we’ll all feel gay

  When Johnny has won the race.

  There was a second verse, but it had hardly got started when it was trampled down under the cadenced boots of a louder song. And another band marched out of a sidestreet into the Square followed by solid ranks of marching men, most of whom had been recruited from Middletown, in the neighboring county. They chanted as they came,

  —Tramp, tramp, tramp, we’ll vote for Garwood!

  Look out, scoundrels, here we come!

  Down with Shawnessy and shame!

  Send him back to where he came!

  Vote for Garwood! He’s the boy to make things hum!

  In massed ranks, heavyfooted, led by a phalanx of young businessmen, the cohorts of Garwood B. Jones strode three times around the Square. Now and then, John Shawnessy could hear the voices of school children bravely singing his own campaign song. But the dominant sound was

  —Step right up and vote for Garwood.

  Join the forwardlooking throng.

  When the final count is made,

  He’ll put Johnny in the shade.

  Vote for Garwood, one and all, you can’t go wrong.

  Garwood stood up. He waved his great arms. A throaty shout from massed hundreds responded. Deepchested, thickbellied, he stalked back and forth on the platform.

  When the moderator made the introduction, Garwood got up and delivered a stemwinder. John Shawnessy, who hadn’t heard Garwood talk for several years, was amazed at the man’s power and eloquence. For a moment he himself was halfpersuaded that Garwood was in the right and ought to be elected. Garwood smote applause from the crowd like a director whose gestures sculpture the music of the instruments. The whipsnap of his climaxes was a command to a trained beast. Applause piled up against closed gates. Garwood’s voice now seemed to invite, now quickly suppressed, now tugged at the gates, now checked unexpectedly, now suddenly smashed the dam and let the flood come through. His supporters clapped, yelled, shrieked, howled. They taunted the Shawnessy supporters.

  —Take that, goddern ye! That’s Garwood fer ye! Listen to that man talk!

  Their banners carried the simple legend:

  GARWOOD B. JONES

  THE PEOPLE’S CHOICE

  But in a few minutes John Shawnessy realized that it was all pure virtuosity. Garwood was the same old Garwood. His political creed was transparent as ever. He promised the farmers better treatment from the railroads. He promised the railroads more money from the farmers. He promised the businessmen and creditor classes a currency that wouldn’t fold up and go into any old pocketbook but would find its way clinking into strongboxes with reinforced corners. He promised the debtor and farming classes a currency so plentiful everybody could pay off his debts and buy fat acres. He promised the radical reconstructionists that he wanted to see a firm hand maintained in the South so that the fruits of the War would not be lost. He promised the Southern sympathizers that the Negro would be kept in his place and that the Union would somehow be the old Union of before the War.

  Garwood’s political creed was even simpler than all that. It was simply and solely to get himself elected to office.

  Garwood B. Jones was a born politician. He knew how to make the votes flow. In the hands of Garwood B. Jones, the ballot ceased to be the e
xpression of a free people. It was the charmed tribute of the dumb to the eloquent.

  When Garwood at last sat down, he left the Square churned up with fury. Faces leaped through the air and confronted other faces. Men cursed. Middle-aged women fanned themselves and panted as if they had just had physical contact with a Casanova. Cowbells clanked. And above it all, Garwood’s band, which was much bigger than the Independent Candidate’s and had a great deal more brass and blow in it, played the militant air of Garwood’s campaign song.

  At this inauspicious moment, the moderator introduced the Independent Candidate.

  John Shawnessy knew, when he got up before the crowd in the Court House Square, that this was one of the mythical hours of his life. He was at last confronting the people. He knew most of them, and most of them knew him or thought they knew him. Could he indeed open a door for these people that would admit them to a better day? Or was he, even as Garwood had implied, a cloudgathering impostor?

  —Friends and fellow citizens, he began.

  —Go home, Johnny, a man in the front row said, and git your maw to wipe your nose.

  The crowd laughed.

  —Shut up, you! a Shawnessy supporter said.

  —You shet me up! the man said.

  —Friends and fellow citizens——

  A man in the front row plucked slowly a huge belch from beer-swollen guts. Garwood’s supporters guffawed savagely.

  John Shawnessy stopped, confused.

  But at this moment, Garwood Jones made a magnificent gesture. He stood up and said with impressive dignity,

  —I repudiate the support of any man who denies to this candidate the right to be heard.

  This spontaneous action touched the crowd, and members of all parties cheered Garwood to the echo. With a gracious bow to the Independent Candidate, Garwood sat down. Next morning his behavior was very favorably noticed in the newspapers and elsewhere, except for a few cynics who said Garwood had planted his meanest hatchet men and hecklers in the crowd and had planned the whole thing, including the noble gesture.