by Robert Sobel
And then, said Watson, he laughed heartily. Coolidge was always a man who knew his strengths and weaknesses, and played to the former. In a 1927 poll rating radio personalities, Coolidge came in fourth, behind John McCormack, Walter Damrosch, and Madame Schumann-Heink (all musicians), but ahead of Will Rogers, who was in seventh place. One scholar calculated that during his presidency, Coolidge spoke, on the average, 8,688 words per month over the radio. Coolidge even appeared in a film, a “talkie” that antedated the famous Jazz Singer.
The country had never seen anything like Coolidge’s refusal to campaign in a political campaign. The closest to it had been McKinley’s “front porch” campaign of 1896, which was literally conducted from the front porch, from which he addressed delegations. But McKinley had at least dealt with political issues, and Coolidge did not even do that.
One reason for Coolidge’s lack of activity must have been the death of his son, which haunted him for the rest of his life. “When he went,” he wrote in his Autobiography, “the power and glory of the presidency went with him…. I don’t know why such a price was exacted for occupying the White House.” He remarked, “My own participation [in the election campaign] was delayed by the death of my son Calvin, which occurred on the seventh of July. He was a boy of much promise, proficient in his studies, with a scholarly mind, who had just turned sixteen. He had a remarkable insight into things.”
Coolidge remained grief-stricken and aloof during the electoral season, but Dawes took up the slack. He delivered more than a hundred speeches in four months and traveled 1,500 miles. He was a dynamo. As Robert Murray put it, “His delivery was electric. It was said that he was the only man in the world who when he spoke could keep both feet and both arms in the air at once.”
Before leaving on his tour, Dawes received a letter of instruction and advice from Coolidge: “The more simple you can keep it, the better they will like it.” He suggested Dawes “keep as much as you can to an expression of general principles, rather than attempting to go into particular details of legislation,” and closed with, “Whenever you go anywhere, take Mrs. Dawes along.”
If he intended to take this advice, it didn’t show in his speeches. Dawes hammered away at two themes, one for the La Follette candidacy, the other for the Democrats. La Follette, in his estimation, was the agent of “red radicalism.” Dawes also spoke out forcefully against the Klan on August 23, in an area in Maine in which the organization was strong. But he stopped talking about the Klan when informed it would hurt the ticket.
John Davis took a different tack. The man who had always been ahead of his party on this issue (but who in 1954 would oppose integration in Brown v. Board of Education) was scheduled to speak out against the Klan on August 21. The night before a Klan representative offered to help deliver the South in return for silence. Davis read the Kleagle’s letter, tore it up, and the next day attacked the Klan in no uncertain terms: “If any organization, no matter what it chooses to be called, whether it be KKK or any other name, raises the standard of racial and religious prejudices, or attempts to make racial origins or religious beliefs the test of fitness for public office, it does violence to the spirit of American institutions and must be condemned by all who believe as I do in American ideals.”
Despite his exertions, Davis was almost the forgotten man in this election. He was a fine speaker, and some of his speeches were well crafted and thought out. But he hadn’t a chance; in fact, Davis hadn’t even a strategy. Coolidge had the conservatives, and La Follette the old progressives, while Davis was in the middle. Should he attempt to win progressives or conservatives? Should he write off the East and concentrate on the Midwest, or let La Follette draw off Coolidge votes in the Midwest and go for an eastern strategy? Should he attack La Follette, or Coolidge? Or both? Davis and his managers were unable to find answers. He grew frustrated at his own inability to draw Coolidge into taking stands on the issues. Many years later he said, “I did my best… to make Coolidge say something. I was running out of anything to talk about. What I wanted was for Coolidge to say something. I didn’t care what it was, just so I had someone to debate with. He never opened his mouth.” In one of his speeches, Davis put it this way:If scandals break out in the government, the way to treat them is—silence.
If petted industries make exorbitant profits under an extortionate tariff, the answer is—silence.
If the League of Nations… invites us into conference on questions of worldwide importance, the answer is—silence.
If race and religious prejudices threaten our domestic harmony, the answer is—silence.
But Coolidge did respond, though as was his wont, obliquely: “I don’t recall any candidate for president that ever injured himself very much by not talking.”
La Follette’s speeches, for their part, were rambling and strangely out of date, and toward the end, shrill and filled with malice and bitterness. He knew this was his last hurrah. La Follette’s supporters comprised an interesting mix of old progressives and young students, along with labor leaders—he was endorsed by the AFL—and assorted radicals.
Republicans spoke of the peace and prosperity under Coolidge, contrasting that with the war and depression they had inherited from Wilson in 1921. The Democrats spoke of the scandals and government of, for, and by big business. In this contest the Republicans had by far the better issues, as well as a popular incumbent. On October 23 Coolidge wrote his father, saying, “The outlook appears to be promising, but as I have often told you elections are very uncertain. I hope this is the last time that I shall ever have to be a candidate for office.” This was three years before he made his famous public statement on the subject.
The Coolidge people were not above attempting to frighten the undecided into voting for their man. One slogan that has come down as symbolizing the campaign was “Keep Cool with Coolidge,” but another summed it up better for that generation of Americans: “Coolidge or Chaos.” In a typical article on the subject, “The Paramount Issue: Coolidge or Chaos” in the North American Review of September 1924, the writer drew a somber scenario, in which the election was thrown into the House of Representatives due to the inability of any candidate to obtain a majority of the electoral votes. In his fantasy, no candidate would be able to obtain a majority of the state votes either. At the same time, the Senate—where the vote would not be by states, but individuals—would vote for the vice president. Assuming the Farmer–Laborites there voted for Bryan, along with several of the Republicans in the farm bloc, Bryan would become vice president on March 4, 1925, and in the absence of a president, would succeed to that office. The article concluded, “Neither Davis nor La Follette can, at any time, win a majority of votes in the Electoral College. It is doubtful if Coolidge could obtain a clear majority now or next week. Looking to November, then, the Paramount Issue is: Coolidge or Chaos.”
Whether this imagery swayed anyone is doubtful. The final Literary Digest poll indicated that Coolidge would receive 56.6 percent of the popular vote, Davis, 21.2 percent, and La Follette, 21.3 percent.
On November 4, in his last press conference before the election, Coolidge tried to sum up his campaign:I don’t know that there is any comment that I can make on the election or the campaign that isn’t perfectly obvious to all of you. I have conducted a campaign that I think will not leave me anything to be sorry for, whether I am elected or not. I don’t know of anything in the conduct of the campaign that I have been responsible for which I shall have to make any apology.
Coolidge received 15,718,211 votes; Davis, 8,395,283; and La Follette, 4,831,470. In the Electoral College Coolidge earned 382 votes; Davis, 136; and La Follette, 13. The Literary Digest poll had been fairly accurate; Coolidge had 54 percent of the popular vote; Davis, 28.8 percent; and La Follette, 16.5 percent. It was the largest Republican plurality in history, a smashing victory, but Harding’s 1920 achievement was in some ways more impressive. In that election Harding had 60 percent of the popular vote, and he received 400,000
more votes than Coolidge did. But, of course, Harding had been in what essentially was a two-man race, while Coolidge had to face two major opponents.
Voter turnout was very low; 51 percent of those eligible cast ballots, slightly more than the 49 percent of 1920. Later analysis indicated that only 35 percent of qualified women voted in 1924. As in earlier elections, there were definite regional patterns. Davis carried the states of the former Confederacy, plus Oklahoma and the large northern cities. His popular vote was 800,000 fewer than Cox’s 1920 total.
La Follette won his home state of Wisconsin and came in second in eleven other states. He didn’t do as well with farmers and laborers as anticipated, but scored strongly with intellectuals. It also appeared that fears of La Follette, combined with the certain knowledge Davis couldn’t win, led many moderate and conservative voters to cast their ballots for Coolidge. Of all six candidates, it seemed Coolidge had the greatest appeal to voters, while Bryan was the weakest.
The new Senate was narrowly Republican, with 50 Republicans, 40 Democrats, 1 Farmer–Laborite, and 5 La Follette Republicans. The GOP had a wider margin in the House—232 Republicans, 183 Democrats, 2 Farmer–Laborites, 2 Socialists, and 15 La Follette Republicans. Nonetheless, Coolidge could not count on Congress to support some of his programs. Despite his achievement, there was no indication Coolidge’s coattails had carried many Republicans to victory.
This election dented the Klan’s reputation for determining winners and losers. Al Smith won the governorship of New York, and Walsh won in Montana; both men had been targeted for defeat. In Texas, “Ma” Ferguson, the wife of former Governor “Farmer Jim” Ferguson, won easily on an anti-Klan platform. Moreover, Prohibition did not seem to have played much of a role in the election.
Coolidge received the news of his victory without surprise, and later made a brief, standard statement of gratitude:I can only express my thanks to all those who have contributed to this result and plainly acknowledge that it has been brought to pass through the works of a Divine Providence, of which I am but one instrument. Such powers as I have I dedicate to the service of all my country and all my countrymen.
What had it all meant? William Allen White, whose feelings regarding Coolidge were mixed but whose opinions were usually shrewd and always honest, wrote his analysis in his 1938 biography:No Republican ever came to the White House, except possibly Theodore Roosevelt, who was elected in his own right with fewer strings on him. Calvin Coolidge had remade the Republican Party in his own image. He was an organization man but the organization of the party owed more to him than he owed to it. He was a natural ally of organized capital, those vast amalgamations of wealth which controlled the banks and so had suzerainty over major commodity industries of the land. But there again Calvin Coolidge was free. He had befriended the bankers and their industrial lieges. They had done little for him. No scandal surrounded the campaign fund of 1924. It was an inexpensive Republican campaign. The president for the most part stayed in the White House and paid his own way when he went out to make the few speeches which graced the campaign.
Yet White was not quite correct. The new Senate would have the likes of Hiram Johnson, Borah, James Watson of Indiana, Arthur Capper of Kansas, Norris, La Follette, and Lenroot, all Republicans—at least nominally—who were quite independent. The election had changed nothing as far as they were concerned. La Follette even talked of a foray into the 1926 congressional and state elections, but this wasn’t taken too seriously, and soon after the CPPA voted itself out of existence, even though the progressives remained defiant.
A more forceful president might have whipped some of them into line. The Coolidge of 1923 had at least made a try, ineffectual though it had been. In 1925 Coolidge could have claimed a mandate for his program and policies, which was what Roosevelt had done after his victory in 1904. But the man who was still grieving over the death of his son, who was clearly weary of politics, was not likely to do so.
After Calvin, Jr.’s, death the president stopped being a workaholic. He delegated responsibility, where earlier he had been on top of most matters. He was listless, and Grace Coolidge later noted he complained of asthma and had troubles with his digestion. He feared a heart attack, and had two electrocardiograms a day, and often took his own pulse at his desk. All this as he had become president in his own right, achieving the pinnacle of success and power.
11
Domestic Affairs
Many occasions arise in the Congress when party lines are very properly disregarded, but if there is to be a reasonable government proceeding in accordance with the express mandate of the people, and not merely at the whim of those who happen to be victorious at the polls, on all the larger and important issues there must be party solidarity. It is the business of the president as party leader to do the best he can to see that the declared party platform purposes are translated into legislative and administrative action. Oftentimes I secured support from those without my party and had opposition from those within my party, in attempting to keep my platform pledges.
The Autobiography of Calvin Coolidge
ON DECEMBER 3, 1924, a month after his smashing electoral victory, Coolidge had a clerk read his annual State of the Union message to the Special Session of the outgoing Congress. It was quite different from that first message, which he had delivered in person. Gone was the long list of legislative requests, as well as the lobbying Coolidge had engaged in for them. Some attributed this apathy to the letdown after the campaign, others to Coolidge’s belief that his task was to administer what Congress legislated, and not to attempt to lead it in one direction or another. But his campaign had not been onerous, and he had provided legislative leadership in Massachusetts and during his first year in office as president. After he left the White House those close to him ascribed this lassitude to continued brooding over the death of his son, and took literally what he said in his Autobiography regarding how he felt about the office afterward. In 1924 Coolidge had pressed for action; in 1925 he did not.
In his address Coolidge asked for the further development of internal waterways, the sale of Muscle Shoals, government assistance in the consolidation of the railroads, and judicial and prison reforms. He wanted further cutbacks in military procurement, favored another disarmament conference, and opposed suggestions that the United States forgive the World War I debts. He also condemned lynching, and asked that black Americans receive full civil rights—without going into specifics. The matter that received most of Coolidge’s attention was taxes:The country is now feeling the direct stimulus which came from the passage of the last revenue bill, and under the assurance of a reasonable system of taxation there is every prospect of an era of prosperity of unprecedented proportions. But it would be idle to expect any such results unless business can continue free from excess profits taxation and be accorded a system of surtaxes at rates which have for their object not the punishment of success or the discouragement of business, but the production of the greatest amount of revenue from large incomes. I am convinced that the larger incomes of the country would actually yield more revenue to the government if the basis of taxation were scientifically revised downward.
He returned to this theme in his Inaugural Address on March 4, 1925, the first to be broadcast:I want the people of America to be able to work less for the government and more for themselves. I want them to have the rewards of their own industry. That is the chief meaning of freedom. Until we can re-establish a condition under which the earnings of the people can be kept by the people, we are bound to suffer a very distinct curtailment of our liberty.
The State of the Union and the Inaugural Address contained the essence of Coolidge’s thought, which would be on display for the remainder of his administration. At the time and afterward his critics continued to assert that he advocated more tax cuts in order to reward the wealthy individuals he admired. Lower taxes did benefit wealthy individuals, of course, but they also helped the middle class. As Coolidge would observe in his
1927 State of the Union address, “Exemptions have been increased until 115,000,000 people make out but 2,500,000 individual taxable returns.” It was equally untrue that Coolidge geared his programs to provide most of the relief for the wealthy. Secretary of the Treasury Mellon quite correctly observed in 1924 that only 2.5 percent of the cuts in his original program would have gone to taxpayers with incomes of more than $100,000, while 70 percent went to those with incomes below $10,000.
In 1927, 56 percent of Americans had incomes between $3,000 and $25,000, which—in this period of $30 monthly rentals for two-bedroom apartments in New York City and nickel subway rides and hot dogs—meant middle class. Some 70 percent of income taxes that year came from those with incomes of more than $50,000—the upper classes. Americans with incomes below $3,000 paid less than 1 percent of total income taxes collected.
