Coolidge

by Robert Sobel

  Coolidge tried to do what he said he would: make new friends, especially in the Senate. He did not succeed, largely because he had not been the senators’ candidate, and was so unlike the vice presidents they had known. With one exception his twentieth century predecessors had been or became men of the Capitol. Marshall had been governor of Indiana before becoming Wilson’s running mate, but he was a gregarious, hearty man, whose quips delighted his colleagues, and was accepted by them almost immediately. Taft’s vice president, James Sherman, had been a congressman for sixteen years. Charles Fairbanks, who served under Roosevelt, was a senator from Ohio when tapped for the nomination. Roosevelt himself was the one who did not fit in well with the senatorial oligarchy; TR was governor of New York when he became McKinley’s running mate over the objections of Mark Hanna. Roosevelt was unlike Garret Hobart, McKinley’s first vice president, who though not a senator had been a party wheelhorse for many years.

  As vice president, in an office without power, Coolidge had many negatives to overcome, and he wasn’t up to it temperamentally. In 1921 Harding was fifty-six years old and seemed in robust good health. At the end of his first term he would be just past the age of sixty. By then the party leaders would have tried to select his new running mate, probably another senator or even Lowden, and then Coolidge could be sent back to Massachusetts, a place the party’s leaders felt he should never have left.

  The vice presidency of the United States proved one of Coolidge’s less demanding positions. Certainly he had more to occupy himself as president of the Massachusetts senate and as governor. As lieutenant governor Coolidge often filled in for Governor McCall when he made his frequent out-of-state trips. Even as Northampton mayor he had to take care of many details and organize an agenda. Harding did, however, make good on his pledge that Coolidge would sit in on cabinet meetings. This wasn’t completely unprecedented. President Taft had Sherman at some cabinet meetings, and, while Roosevelt did not ask Fairbanks to his, he had recommended a larger role for vice presidents, including representing the White House in Congress. Coolidge attended cabinet meetings, but he was there to listen and learn, not offer ideas and make suggestions and recommendations.

  Coolidge learned a great deal from observing the Harding administration. Examining Harding’s approach to the office and his programs is thus critical to understanding the Coolidge presidency.

  Penrose had told Senator Moses that if Harding were nominated and elected, the party leaders would make certain he was surrounded by able and conscientious men who would lighten his tasks. Harding probably didn’t know of the conversation, but he seemed to want a strong cabinet. Some of his selections were highly capable, even inspired. Secretary of State Charles Evans Hughes had been a governor, a Supreme Court justice, and a presidential candidate, and he was one of the nation’s most respected men. Secretary of the Treasury Andrew Mellon had been a powerful banker and industrialist. Secretary of Commerce Herbert Hoover was not only a great humanitarian and organizer, but before the war a highly successful businessman who knew the world—and he became the most energetic and imaginative individual to fill that position. At the time the Old Guard was wary of Hoover, who seemed a maverick on many issues and an amateur politician, but Harding wanted him, and he joined the team.

  Some of Harding’s other selections, however, were among the worst in American history. On this other extreme were Daugherty, who became attorney general; Edwin Denby, secretary of the navy; and Albert Fall, secretary of the interior. All brought disgrace to the administration, but in 1921 they did not seem like such terrible picks. Daugherty was being hailed as a political genius, and such men often were rewarded with cabinet posts. Denby had served in the navy during the Spanish–American War, and while in Congress he was on the House Naval Affairs Committee. When the United States entered World War I he enlisted in the Marine Corps as a private and was a major when mustered out. Few of his predecessors knew the navy better than he. Fall was also a Spanish–American War veteran who had been a senator from New Mexico, and was considered an expert on Mexican affairs. Charles Evan Hughes had even recommended Fall for secretary of state—before being named to the position himself. In addition, Fall had supported American entry to the League, and his presence in the cabinet brought some balance on this contentious issue. At the time it was known that Fall had been a strong opponent of TR’s conservation policies, but Harding liked him—as he did Daugherty and Denby.

  The incongruities among Harding’s advisors would be reflected in the activities and record of the administration. In some areas Harding enjoyed great success, although this is rarely recalled. His failures, on the other hand, are remembered vividly and are the basis for Harding’s public reputation.

  Much has been made of the contrast between Harding and Coolidge, and they were in many ways quite different. Harding was a large, outgoing, gregarious, inquisitive man, who made friends easily, but was not particularly respected for his intellect. He had those two extramarital affairs, fathered a daughter out of wedlock, and did not have a happy marriage. He was also a chronic joiner, a member not only of the Moose and Elks, but also of the Odd Fellows, Redmen, and Hoo-Hoos. Coolidge was his direct opposite. Those who saw them together remarked on how Harding would try to hold a conversation, only to have Coolidge remain silent or reply in monosyllables.

  Their similarities on their views of government and the economy were far more important, however, which explains the continuity of their administrations. Both believed in the separation of powers, which meant the executive’s main task was to carry out legislation passed by Congress. In time Harding would provide legislative leadership, but Coolidge rarely did so. Both men worked hard and long, though for different reasons. Coolidge probably did so out of a sense of obligation; he had been reared to value effort. Harding, for his part, was aware of his limitations and labored away to try to grasp concepts and understand problems required of a chief executive.

  Harding was a believer in compromise. At the outset he seemed to think that if he could bring together “the best minds” and let them interact, the ensuing give-and-take discussion might offer solutions to problems. If not, he could enter the picture and prod them into some kind of resolution. He did not consider himself an economic or political philosopher, or even a leader, because he didn’t think this was needed. Coolidge, however, had a different approach. As president of the Massachusetts senate and as governor he had pushed for legislation, made decisions readily, and was prepared to share his thoughts with other state political figures. In Massachusetts Coolidge had relished compromise far less than did Harding.

  As though to underline his intentions to be an agent of change, Harding called a special session of Congress, which convened on April 12. With two Massachusetts men seated behind him—Coolidge and Speaker of the House Gillett—Harding addressed Congress and presented his political program along with his views on many matters. He had devoted a good deal of time and effort to this speech, conferring with the powers within the GOP, his cabinet, and experts. Harding knew what his reputation was, and with this speech he set out to change that image. In the process, he presented not only an agenda for Congress in 1921, but also the Republican program for the next eight years.

  Harding called for the gradual liquidation of the war debt, slashes in government spending, and tax reduction. “The most substantial relief from the tax burden must come for the present from the readjustment of internal taxes, and the revision or repeal of those taxes which have become unproductive and are so artificial and burdensome as they defeat their own purpose.” Next, Harding asked for an emergency tariff increase to protect American industries and agriculture and provide additional revenue. During the primaries Lowden had made much of the way the Illinois budget bureau brought efficiencies to the state, and it was a popular theme. Now Harding asked Congress to provide a “national budget system.” In a rambling section, he tried to assure business that it had no reason to fear a return to the progressive antitrust c
rusade: “We mean to have less of government in business as well as more business in government.” He went on to demand lower railway rates. Harding also wanted a large-scale highway construction program, but indicated that he expected the financial burden and construction to be undertaken by the states, though with “federal participation,” which he did not spell out. He asked for a larger merchant marine and navy, encouraged the development of aviation, both military and civilian, and spoke of the need to develop radio. Harding wanted to limit immigration, expand hospitals, pass an antilynching law, and create a Department of Public Welfare.

  Harding saved the thorny question of the League for the final section of his address. He rejected the present League, but, “we make no surrender of our hope for an association to preserve peace in which we would most heartily join.” These carefully chosen words were well received. After he was finished, Borah and the Irreconcilables claimed Harding was on their team, Lodge and his Reservationists did the same, and supporters of the League, who had been told by Taft and other League defenders that the only way the United States would enter that body would be through a Harding victory, were content.

  The Harding program contained elements that pleased and distressed both progressive and conservative Republicans. Conservatives were troubled by the call for lower railway rates and hints of regulatory legislation, while progressives didn’t like the tax and tariff proposals. All could agree, however, that the program was ambitious, comprehensive, and a marked change from the Wilson approach and agenda. The reaction and discussion that followed must have convinced Harding that his early hopes of acting as a conciliator and mediator could not get his policies accepted. He would have to become a leader, a cajoler, an arm-twister.

  In this, Harding knew he had the support and confidence of the congressional Republican leaders. He understood them. He was one of them. Harding could move easily among the Senate Republicans. Listen. Joke. Cajole. Compromise. Much has been made of the Harding card games, the loose and easy way he operated. If inelegant, they were effective places to do business. Harding was, to put it simply, one of the boys. The Senate would bend over backward to accommodate him.

  Coolidge was fortunate that by the time he became president, the Harding agenda was in place, along with some of the people who had helped carry it out for him, and who would do the same for Coolidge. All he had to do was complete the unfinished business. If Coolidge could weed out the cabinet rascals and replace them with his own people, then, when he left office, he could point to accomplishments that were, in part at least, the Harding legacy. Of course, Coolidge did have ideas of his own, but the foundation of the Coolidge presidency had its roots in the Harding years. The sharp changes that occurred when Harry Truman succeeded Franklin D. Roosevelt and when Lyndon Johnson succeeded John F. Kennedy did not take place in the 1920s.

  What might Coolidge have been thinking as he watched from his perch behind Harding? Unlike Harding, Coolidge had had the benefit of being a governor, whose responsibilities were closer to those of the president than were a senator’s duties. Twice Coolidge had presented his agendas to the Massachusetts General Court, and he had a good record on getting them approved. As senate president under a Democratic governor, he had formulated programs of his own, and knew how to lead recalcitrant members of his own party and win over Democrats. Half a century later such experience in a vice president would have been an asset, but not in 1921, when, as indicated, vice presidents—even Theodore Roosevelt—were considered standby equipment. He was considered a hard worker. One Washington official told a reporter from the Boston Sunday Post that he had been surprised by Coolidge’s industriousness.

  That’s a new one on me…. I’ve seen vice presidents who were busy attending luncheons and dinner parties. But those other vice presidents never had much else to do. They never received any mail to talk about. Presidents seemed to forget them completely. No one ever thought of consulting them. As the weeks sped on, they became more and more forgotten. I think it must be different this time. It is different.

  What did he do in office? There really wasn’t much to occupy his time, except studying the issues. He must have reflected on the insignificance of the office, which vice presidents from John Adams on had remarked on. According to Pennsylvania Senator George Pepper, a great raconteur, Coolidge once related that one night a fire alarm at the Willard brought all the guests to the lobby, the Coolidges among them. When the fire was under control Coolidge started up the stairs, only to be stopped by the fire marshal. “Who are you?” he wanted to know. Coolidge replied, “I’m the vice president,” to which the fire marshal replied, “All right—go ahead.” But then he thought again. “What are you vice president of?” he wanted to know. “I am vice president of the United States.” “Come right down,” said the marshal. “I thought you were the vice president of the hotel.”

  In his Autobiography Coolidge wrote that he enjoyed studying the Senate, and soon found that it had “but one fixed rule, subject to exceptions of course, which was to the effect that the Senate would do anything it wanted to do whenever it wanted to do.” As president of the Senate he possessed various powers as presiding officer. He would vote in case of a tie, which never occurred while he was there. The Constitution gave him the power to recognize whom he wished. That often meant that he could decide what business would be taken up and who would have the floor for debate at any specific time. This, of course, was the theory; in practice vice presidents didn’t attempt to control events, leaving this to the majority or minority leaders. Coolidge was not a particularly strong presiding officer. Like his predecessors, if he had to be elsewhere when the Senate was in session, he would name a senator to act in his place, and he was quite bipartisan in his selection, often naming Democrats to the position.

  Only one incident of significance occurred while Coolidge was the Senate’s presiding officer, and it happened because he wasn’t in the chair when he should have been. Senator George Norris, an important progressive Republican, had introduced a measure to alleviate overseas marketing problems of American farmers, but the administration favored a bill to assist domestic marketing, which was to be introduced by Senator Frank Kellogg. The vice president had told Norris he would recognize Senator Joseph Ransdell to open the debate. But just before he was supposed to do this Coolidge left the chair, turning it over to conservative Senator Charles Curtis. When Ransdell attempted to get the floor, Curtis ignored him and recognized Kellogg instead, who introduced the administration’s measure, killing the Norris proposal—whereupon Coolidge reentered the chamber and relieved Curtis. The progressives believed this indicated that Coolidge would go back on his word in order to further administration wishes, and even the conservatives were upset. Though the behavior was uncharacteristic of Coolidge, and puzzling, the action poisoned his relations with the senators for the remainder of his vice presidency and into his presidency. Just as Harding was the quintessential insider, Coolidge became the archetypal outsider. Harding’s exuberant personality caused senators to want to work with him; the austere Coolidge repelled them.

  Coolidge, as always, kept his cards close to his vest, and we know little about what he knew or though about while vice president. Assistant Secretary of the Navy Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., wrote of him, “I do not know his policies. Though I sat more than two months in the cabinet with him, I never heard him express his opinion on major questions.” Only a few of his letters to his father during this period survived, and these reveal next to nothing. He remained loyal to his chief, occasionally sending notes praising one action or another, but little else. With his experience in government, he might have learned something of the illegal and questionable activities that were taking place in the Harding administration, but Coolidge said nothing about them then or later.

  The vice presidents of this period filled an important social role, freeing the presidents from the necessity of attending social functions. Writing to his father on March 17, 1921, he said, “We are out to d
inners a great deal,” and this would continue, at the rate of approximately three times a week. “As we were always the ranking guests, we had the privilege of arriving last and leaving first, so that we were usually home by ten o’clock.” Many stories were bandied about regarding how little Coolidge said at such dinners. But in his Autobiography Coolidge claimed otherwise. “We found it a most enjoyable opportunity for getting acquainted and could scarcely comprehend how anyone who had the privilege of sitting at a table surrounded by representatives of the cabinet, the Congress, the diplomatic corps, and the army and navy would not find it interesting.” Grace Coolidge later said that at first her husband liked these dinners, but after a while they became tedious. Once when asked why he went to so many dinners, Coolidge replied solemnly, “Got to eat somewhere.” So the Coolidges continued to dine out regularly, but they did not enter into the Capital’s social whirl.

  Vice presidents were in demand for speeches, and Coolidge was no exception. He traveled throughout the country, mostly east of the Mississippi, delivering talks on a wide variety of topics, many of them historical, such as “Theodore Roosevelt” (in New York City), “Andrew Carnegie” (Pittsburgh), “Ulysses S. Grant” (Washington), “Great Virginians” (Frederickburg), “Our Heritage from Hamilton” (Chicago), “The Place of Lincoln” (Springfield, Illinois), and “William McKinley” (Cambridge, Massachusetts). Unsurprisingly, he had nothing but praise for his subjects. There were also inspirational addresses, dealing with such topics as “The Power of Moral Law” (Springfield, Massachusetts), “The Purpose of America” (Baltimore), “Thought: The Master of Things” (Philadelphia), and “The Needs of Education” (Reynoldsville, Pennsylvania). Missing from his topics were talks dealing with current politics, legislation, world affairs, and related topics.