Coolidge

by Robert Sobel

  By 1920, however, Penrose was a sick man, and easily distracted. He was wasted by then, almost thin, unable to work for long stretches. He hardly ate, and his drinking was no longer on a gargantuan scale. When he could pull himself together, however, it became clear his powerful intellect had not dimmed. Nor would he relinquish power to others.

  As with most of the other bosses, Penrose’s attention was sharply focused on the needs of his state. In Pennsylvania that meant high tariffs. He bargained astutely on this issue and usually had his way. Penrose was known as a man who did not forgive easily and who rewarded his friends, but more important, as a man of his word. A promise from Penrose could be banked. Not only his words. After his death $226,000 in cash was found in his safe deposit box.

  Perhaps all of this would have mattered little had Roosevelt been available for the nomination. In late 1919 he was the odds-on favorite. TR’s record, stands on issues, personal popularity with both the rank-and-file and the leaders, reputation, and of course his electability were all in his favor. Roosevelt had started accumulating a campaign fund when he died on January 6, 1919. It seemed at the time that no one could fill the gap, though several would try, and as was often the case in such situations, there was a chance they would cancel one another out. In mid-January, as the Republican leaders pondered what would transpire without Roosevelt, they turned to Penrose for a sign.

  Penrose met with several leaders to talk about the 1920 elections. Veteran reporter Frank Kent, who had attended many conventions and was considered one of the more perceptive observers of the period, thought that, in the end, Penrose would lead the other bosses into selecting the ticket. As the general public watched the candidates, Kent tried to follow the bosses. In 1923 he wrote of the nature of conventions:National conventions are uncertain assemblies. They are made up of delegates from every state in the Union and the average delegation is a thoroughly bossed and controlled delegation. The average delegation is made up of hand-picked men who can be swung into line when the word is given out. Notoriously, delegates to national conventions are unemotional and unswayed by public clamor or enthusiasm. The galleries go wild, but the delegates sit tight.

  Since some of the leading candidates talked and acted as though they intended to be strong presidents, the bosses devoted more thought, time, and effort to stopping them than to figuring out whom they would support. As it happened, this was left to the convention’s last hours.

  As with most nominations of the period, this one was brokered, the only question being whether the deal would be arranged on the convention floor between the candidates and their managers, or by the bosses. Delegations hoping to bargain for their support might unite behind a favorite son, usually the governor or a senator from the state, knowing he hadn’t much of a chance, but realizing that supporters of individuals were not ruining their chances with one of the front-runners.

  Coolidge had little reason to expect victory under this system. He was an outsider to the politicians in the rest of the country, and he hadn’t cultivated the powerful men who ruled outside of Massachusetts. Crane would back him, but Coolidge could not expect anyone else to do so. Then, too, the Massachusetts delegation was not united behind him, since Lodge led a rump group that supported Wood, and this was a sign of weakness. True, some senators came to the commonwealth to campaign for him—most notably Harding—but this counted for little. To many Americans, Coolidge was a hero for his actions and words during the Boston police strike, but in those days popularity with the masses did not count as much as it does today.

  If Coolidge was known for anything, it was honesty, integrity, and incorruptibility. As far as the bosses were concerned, these hardly were the kinds of attributes they sought in a president. The bosses sought compliance from the candidate, and Coolidge was too much of a loner. The only president of the postbellum period who had Coolidge’s attributes was Grover Cleveland (like Coolidge, he had served as mayor and governor), and before he left office in 1897, he had all but been read out of the Democratic Party.

  Delegates pledged to Coolidge, led by Stearns, would have had little bargaining power and a lot of history to overcome. The Republican Party was strong in New England, but the heart of the party was in the Midwest, Ohio in particular. Ever since the election of Lincoln (Illinois) in 1860, triumphant Republicans had come from the nation’s heartland. This was true of Presidents Grant (Ohio), Hayes (Ohio), Garfield (Ohio), Harrison (Indiana), McKinley (Ohio), and Taft (Ohio). Arthur and Roosevelt, both from New York, succeeded on the deaths of Garfield and McKinley; neither man would have been nominated on his own. James G. Blaine, who lost to Cleveland in 1884, was from Maine. It didn’t seem likely that Coolidge would be the second New Englander nominated by the Republicans.

  Were there any positives for Coolidge? One was a vacuum at the top of the ticket, another was that he had no dedicated enemies. What, then, might Coolidge have hoped for? In case of a deadlocked convention, the leaders would look for a compromise candidate. But there were many of these hopefuls, most of whom were more acceptable to the leaders than Coolidge. Or the political managers of the candidates might be able to hammer out a ticket among themselves and bypass the bosses, but Coolidge would have little to offer potential partners. Then, too, the delegates might revolt against dictation. This happened in 1896, when William Jennings Bryan came out of nowhere with his “Cross of Gold” speech to capture a Democratic nomination that seemed assured for Congressman Richard Bland. This wasn’t likely to happen in 1920. Even had he been given a chance to address the convention, Coolidge was hardly a spellbinding orator of the caliber of Bryan, and in any case, he intended to remain in Massachusetts, and did not seek a position on the delegation.

  Finally, there was the matter of Coolidge’s personality. He was not a bold man, the kind who would mount a quixotic campaign. Such had never been his style. If limited to one adjective to describe him, it might be “calculated.” He did not take chances, which was one of the reasons he often seemed reluctant to speak out on issues. He delayed decisions, perhaps more than he should have. As has been seen, he could be swift and decisive, but only when the odds were good. After his reelection as governor, a perceptive neighbor who preferred to remain anonymous offered this telling analysis to a reporter for Current Opinion:Calvin has been a good representative, a good senator, and a good governor. He’s honest as the day, and he’s got plenty of brains, a lot of experience, and all the firmness anybody needs. I’m inclined to think he’d make a good president. You see, he never makes mistakes. He has the limitations of his Vermont Yankee hereditary. He was born cautious. All great men make mistakes, probably more mistakes than anything else. Three times out of five that great men come to bat, they strike out. The other two times are home runs tho. Calvin never takes a chance and strikes out, and never hits a home run. A base hit is his limit. He’ll make that every time, to do him justice.

  This soon became a staple of stories about, and analyses of, Coolidge.

  After his overwhelming reelection as governor, a Coolidge for President boom took off in Massachusetts. Many were drawn to his banner, but not the governor himself. Nor would he encourage those who boosted him for the vice presidency, presumably the next rung on the ladder. His terms as lieutenant governor had been unsatisfying, and Coolidge wouldn’t seek another post as standby equipment.

  As it happened, the 1920 Republican Convention was more exciting than anyone imagined. Front-runners were toppled, and dark horses and favorite sons remained in the background. In the end, when it came to the top of the ticket, the expected happened. While there is some disagreement, the weight of evidence indicates that the bosses picked the nominee, Warren Harding of Ohio. According to American presidential mythology, Harding was the quintessential dark horse, but his selection certainly did not come as a surprise, since he ran fourth in the early polling of delegates. The Harding nomination was not the greatest shock at the convention—it was how Coolidge got the nod for the vice presidency. Without gi
ving a speech, without being there, without the use of any of the conventional bargaining arrangements, he pulled off the greatest upset since Bryan’s in 1896. Harding was nominated by the political bosses. The party selected Coolidge for the vice presidency, without him having to make any pledges or promises. This was at the same time his glory, and his problem.

  7

  The Nominee

  Massachusetts did not present my name, because my friends knew I did not want to be vice president, but Judge Wallace McCamant of Oregon placed me in nomination and was quickly seconded by North Dakota and some other states. I received about three-quarters of the votes cast. When this honor came to me I was pleased to accept, and it was especially agreeable to be associated with Senator Harding, whom I knew well and liked.

  The Autobiography of Calvin Coolidge

  THE COOLIDGE BOOMLET gathered steam in the wake of the 1919 gubernatorial election. Newspaper reporters and magazine writers started placing stories about him, many of which argued that he was a different kind of politician, although they seemed unsure of what exactly that meant. They stressed his spare but eloquent phrases, his economy of style, and his simple life. There was always the matter of the police strike. On November 12, the Outlook published one of these typical pieces entitled “Calvin Coolidge, American,” in which the author proclaimed, “The election of Calvin Coolidge in Massachusetts is an event of national significance.” The Boston Herald exaggerated somewhat in stating, “The contest here was watched by leading men all over the United States, and by them regarded as transcending in importance any election that has been held anywhere in the United States in the last decade.” The Boston Post, for its part, observed, incorrectly as it turned out, that the threatened split between Lodge and Crane over the League had been “called off”; the newspaper claimed they would work together in harmony on the Coolidge presidential nomination.

  Coolidge had written to Lodge on February 22, 1919, asking him to moderate his criticism of the League, which was proving popular in parts of Massachusetts. Lodge replied, in a perfectly courteous letter, that he would not oblige. He then told reporters that he didn’t know whether Coolidge was in the race for the Republican presidential nomination, and he wouldn’t indicate whom he supported, although at the time many thought he was leaning toward Leonard Wood, TR’s old comrade-in-arms from the Spanish–American War. This would have complicated matters. At the time Wood lived in Massachusetts and appeared to have substantial strength in the state. A Wood nomination would also have foreclosed any possibility of a Coolidge vice presidential run—the Constitution forbade the president and vice president being from the same state.

  Coolidge wrote in his Autobiography, “About Thanksgiving time Senator Lodge came to me and voluntarily requested that he should present my name to the national Republican convention. He wished to go as a delegate with that understanding.” Lodge confirmed this to reporters, and there was talk of a struggle between the senator and Stearns regarding tactics and strategy.

  As the first prominent Republican to come out publicly for Coolidge, Lodge provided credibility to the movement. Still, he could not command the Massachusetts delegation. Lodge was an insider, but not a boss. He was considered a stuffed shirt by the men with power in their states, who had little liking for the man who gloried in being known as “the scholar in politics.” His prominence in 1920 rested more on the centrality of the League of Nations issue than his political leadership.

  Lodge had never before indicated much admiration for the governor, and the two men still were not close politically. Since a President Coolidge would have displaced Lodge as the most important Republican in the state, the senator could hardly have wanted him to rise that high. Even an unsuccessful Coolidge presidential bid would give him exposure, and could lead him to challenge Lodge, if, at the age of seventy-two, the senator opted in 1922 to run for reelection. Some have suggested that the endorsement was a political ploy; Lodge might have realized that Coolidge had little hope for the nomination, and that by backing him as a favorite son, he would have a free hand once the serious bargaining began. It was a time-honored tradition for fence sitters, one that suited Lodge at that time.

  Lodge might have had another thought in mind. The still-powerful Crane wanted the Massachusetts delegation to come out in favor of the League. Perhaps Crane would moderate his stand if Lodge supported his protégé.

  In spite of his unwillingness to commit himself to the race, others announced for Coolidge. As expected, Crane came out for him, and Frederick Gillett followed. Stearns was actively working for the purported candidate; money was being raised; delegates were being courted; deals were being discussed.

  In early 1920 Coolidge was visited by a reporter for the New York World, who wanted to interview this new force on the national scene. The World had applauded Coolidge’s actions in the strike, and supported him for reelection, unusual at a time when few out-of-state newspapers took such stances. The resulting article might have been the model for the many to come.

  Coolidge is outwardly neither impressive nor expressive, and looking at him therefore is rather wasting time. It will not inform you who it is lives behind the cold mask of his lean and muscular face, and sees out of the eyes that are always looking, in the homely New England metaphor, “between the horse’s ears.” Nothing there will tell you what has brought him political standing and strength. He admittedly lacks all oratorical power in addressing a crowd and all personal magnetism in meeting an individual, and so ignores the charm of the plum-tree that when he became governor he retained in their positions all the efficient appointees of his predecessor. Yet for some years he has been the surest vote-getter in Massachusetts. You would never learn why by looking at him, tho. You might notice that while he is not large-headed, the shape of his skull gives him somewhat more than average brain space; that in body and feet and hands he is of the thoroughbred type, long, slender, and sinewy; that his fingers are the fingers of a scholar, an artist, or a very deft mechanic; that his lips are thin and firmly set in a horizontal line; that his chin is very solid without squareness. Listening to Calvin Coolidge is not considered in Massachusetts likely to be much work—unless you were waiting to hear him break the long silence. If that be true, my own experience must have been unusual. I spent some three hours alone with him one evening, and could have spent three more with enjoyment. What he said was not in the main for quotation, nor did it prove much more revelatory and explanatory than the scrutiny of his record had. Listening to his friends—I could find no enemies, or at least none ready to admit it—was relaxation rather than investigation. Their comment was mainly in the form of illustrative anecdotes, and the anecdotes were good.

  Bruce Barton, one of the more prolific and popular magazine writers of the time, placed a long piece dealing with Coolidge in the March issue of Women’s Home Companion, entitled “The Silent Man on Beacon Hill,” which contained a score or so of Coolidge quotations, as though to indicate he wasn’t all that silent. Barton, who became a Coolidge enthusiast, concluded, “The greatest leaders we have had have been spiritual leaders. In Washington, in Lincoln and Roosevelt, in every man who has stirred America, there has been always an appeal that reached down beneath the material to something large, and unselfish, and eternal in man. And Calvin Coolidge also is a leader of that sort.”

  Realizing his chances for nomination were slim at best, Coolidge spoke out soon after the Barton article appeared: “I have not been and am not a candidate for president.” Still hopeful, however, Stearns wanted to send an unpledged Massachusetts delegation to the Chicago Convention, and he worked for this at the GOP conclave. In the selection process on April 27, Lodge, Gillett, and Crane led in the balloting, and in the end the thirty-one person delegation was split between Coolidge and Wood, with several fence sitters.

  Coolidge had nothing more to say on the matter. He had spoken, and gave the impression that he was content to play the cards he had. In his Autobiography, Coolidge wrote of h
is thoughts during this period:When I came to give the matter serious attention, and comprehended more fully what would be involved in a contest of this kind, I realized that I was not in a position to become engaged in it. I was governor of Massachusetts, and my first duty was to that office. It would not be possible for me, with the legislature in session, to be going about the country actively participating in an effort to secure delegates, and I was totally unwilling to have a large sum of money raised and spent in my behalf.

  I soon became convinced also that I was in danger of creating a situation in which some people in Massachusetts could permit it to be reported in the press that they were for me when they were not at heart for me and would give me little support at the convention. It would, however, prevent their having to make a public choice between other candidates and would help them in getting elected as delegates. There was nothing unusual in this situation. It simply was a condition that always has to be met in politics.

  Here Coolidge was saying that he knew he was a long shot who might be tapped if the convention deadlocked, and that he was open to the highly unlikely possibility of a draft but didn’t expect lightning to strike. Also, he was aware that his support, broad as it might be in the Massachusetts GOP, was also shallow, especially at the top. Why take risks in a situation like this?