Jean Edward Smith

by FDR

  TWELVE

  ALBANY REDUX

  Oh, Franklin, Franklin Roosevelt,

  Is there something in a name?

  When you tire of being Governor,

  Will you look for bigger game?

  Will you wish for something higher

  When at Albany you’re through?

  When you weary of the State House

  Will the White House beckon you?

  —GRIDIRON DINNER DITTY, 1929

  WHEN ROOSEVELT TOOK the oath as governor of New York on January 1, 1929, the road to the White House lay open. “It is too early to select the new leader of the Democratic Party or to predict nominations for a date so remote as 1932,” declared The New York Times. “Yet by a most extraordinary combination of qualities, political fortunes and diversified associations, Governor-elect Roosevelt is within reach of the elements of party leadership.”1 The Atlanta Constitution, smitten with the state’s adopted son, said, “It is difficult to convey in cold type the fervor of the devotion of Georgians to Governor-elect Roosevelt.”2

  With its forty-five electoral votes (more than three times as many as California), New York was a major player in presidential politics. In the sixteen presidential elections since the Civil War, a New Yorker had led the Democratic ticket eight times.* Add TR and Charles Evans Hughes for the Republicans, and a majority of the post–Civil War nominees had been from New York. Roosevelt and Howe understood the odds. But it would be a mistake to announce too early. When reporters asked FDR about the Roosevelt-in-’32 predictions, he replied emphatically, “I want to step on any talk of that kind with both feet.”3 For a man who was paralyzed it was a peculiar metaphor, but Franklin peppered his conversation with jokes about walking, running, and jumping. One of his favorite expressions was “Funny as a crutch.”

  Roosevelt’s first priority was to secure his place as governor. Al Smith had not anticipated losing the presidential race and, after spending eight of the last ten years as governor of the Empire State, suddenly found himself with no place to go. He was reluctant to relinquish his hold on the state government to someone he considered as politically inexperienced as FDR and believed he could call the plays from the sidelines. The fact that Smith had leased a suite at Albany’s DeWitt Clinton Hotel in order to be nearby confirmed for Roosevelt the problem he faced.4

  Outwardly, relations between the two men were cordial. “God bless you and keep you, Frank,” said Smith as FDR and Eleanor drove up to the ornate portico of the governor’s mansion on December 31. “We’ve got the home fires burning and you’ll find this a fine place to live.” Roosevelt returned the sentiment, telling Eleanor, “I only wish Al were going to be right here for the next two years. We are certainly going to miss him.”5

  But there was considerable tension beneath the surface. In mid-December Smith had called on FDR at East Sixty-fifth Street to discuss the transition. To provide for continuity and to ensure that Roosevelt would not be out of his depth in Albany, the governor suggested that Franklin retain two of Smith’s closest collaborators: the hard-driving Robert Moses as secretary of state and the formidable Belle Moskowitz as his executive secretary, speechwriter, and strategist. The abrasive Moses was an exemplary public servant and an empire builder of great virtuosity. His loyalty to Smith was exceeded only by his loyalty to himself.* Mrs. Moskowitz was even more loyal to Smith. She had handled public relations for him since 1918 and was the den mother of the governor’s Albany circle. “I think [Al] suggested this in completely good faith,” said FDR many years later, “but at the same time with the rather definite thought that he himself would continue to run the Governorship.”6

  There was little love lost between Robert Moses and FDR. They had clashed frequently over funding for the Taconic State Parkway, of which Roosevelt was the unsalaried chairman from 1925 to 1928, and those disputes had turned ugly. According to Robert A. Caro, Moses’s Pulitzer Prize–winning biographer, Moses had hoped Smith would tap him for governor in 1928 and was bitterly disappointed when FDR was nominated.7 He spewed out his venom to one and all, telling Frances Perkins among others that Franklin was a “pretty poor excuse for a man” and “not quite bright.” His characterizations of ER were equally vicious.8 Franklin inevitably learned of the gossip and wanted no part of Moses. “No,” he told Smith. “He rubs me the wrong way.”9 To soften the rejection, Roosevelt agreed to retain Moses as chairman of the State Council for Parks and the Long Island Parks Commission—posts where his demonstrated ability could flourish without direct contact.

  With Belle Moskowitz, Roosevelt was circumspect. No one in Albany was closer to Al Smith than Mrs. Moskowitz, and no one had been more influential in shaping the policies of the Smith administration. Smith told FDR that Belle was drafting his inaugural address as well as his initial message to the legislature laying out his program. Roosevelt graciously noted that he was writing the speeches himself but would be happy to show them to Mrs. Moskowitz when he finished. He acknowledged her skill and competence and said her understanding of the issues facing the state was unparalleled. FDR left Smith with the impression that Mrs. Moskowitz would be kept on. Yet he never showed her the speeches and never met with her. “My recollection is that I did not find an opportunity to do so, though I really meant to at the time.”10 In the end, Roosevelt retained sixteen of the eighteen department heads who had served under Smith, but he did not retain Mrs. Moskowitz. He never confronted her, but his decision soon became apparent. As he told Sam Rosenman, “I do not expect to call on these people whom Al has been using.”11*

  FDR did not feel beholden to Smith, except to recognize that he had been an extraordinarily effective governor and would be a tough act to follow. During his eight-year tenure Smith had reduced state government from a hodgepodge of 187 semi-independent agencies to 18 departments, all but 2 responsible to the governor. He had pushed through a constitutional amendment giving the governor authority over the state budget, laid the basis for significant social reform, and cut taxes while funding public works through the sale of state bonds. Roosevelt had run for governor reluctantly, pressured into doing so to aid the national ticket. He had run well ahead of Smith in New York and withstood the Republican tide. As a result, he did not feel he owed his election to anyone but himself. Smith did not see it that way, and relations between the two men, never close, cooled precipitously.

  Roosevelt moved quickly to establish his own cadre in Albany. Ed Flynn, the astute leader of the Bronx, was called back from a European vacation to succeed Robert Moses as secretary of state. Flynn became the principal dispenser of state patronage and FDR’s link to Tammany Hall and other city organizations. Sam Rosenman was named counsel to the governor and moved into a spare room in the executive mansion. Missy LeHand lived there too, joined by Grace Tully, who became FDR’s second secretary, always on call, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Roosevelt passed Belle Moskowitz’s duties as social welfare adviser to Frances Perkins, whom he also named industrial commissioner and a member of the governor’s cabinet, the first woman to serve in that capacity. “It is my firm belief that had women had an equal share in making laws in years past,” said FDR, “the unspeakable conditions in crowded tenements, the neglect of the poor, the unwillingness to spend money for hospitals and sanitariums … would never have come about.”12*

  Henry Morgenthau, Jr., Roosevelt’s Dutchess County neighbor and editor of American Agriculturist, became chairman of the Agricultural Advisory Commission and later commissioner of conservation. Basil O’Connor, Franklin’s law partner, settled in as one of the governor’s political intimates while continuing to head the firm in New York City. Also remaining in New York were Jim Farley and Louis Howe. Farley, at Roosevelt’s insistence, assumed control of the state Democratic party and cleared the deck for the 1930 election. Howe continued as FDR’s political chief of staff, the only person who had access to him night and day on any problem he wished. Howe’s major responsibility was to chart Roosevelt’s course for the 1932 n
omination, and this could be managed more discreetly in New York than in Albany. Howe continued to live in Roosevelt’s town house on East Sixty-fifth Street and handled whatever business the governor had in the city. He went to Albany at least once a week and, like Rosenman and Missy, had his own room in the executive mansion.13

  For the Roosevelts, life in Albany set a pattern that would endure for the remainder of Franklin’s life. The executive mansion—still outfitted with furniture from Grover Cleveland’s time—took on the informality of an expansive country estate. “It looked more like a home than like the property of the State of New York,” Miss Perkins remembered.14 The nine guest rooms were continually occupied, books and papers littered every available space, while secretaries came and went with important papers for the governor to sign. Meals were uproarious affairs, with everyone talking at once. Family, secretaries, newsmen, friends, state troopers, and distinguished guests often sat elbow to elbow, with no one ever quite sure how many would be sitting down for the evening meal. “Really serious talk at the table was avoided if Roosevelt could manage it,” Rexford Tugwell recalled. “But Eleanor, so humorless and so weighted down with responsibility, made this difficult.”15

  Meanwhile, the children were growing up. Anna, now twenty-two, had married and was living in Manhattan with her stockbroker husband but had deposited Chief, her German shepherd, with Eleanor and Franklin. The four Roosevelt boys were in and out of the house. James, in his last year at Harvard, was engaged to Betsey Cushing, one of three vivacious daughters of a prominent Boston surgeon.16* In future years, both Anna and Betsey would serve as White House hostess during Eleanor’s absence. Elliott (18), Franklin, Jr. (14), and John (12) were in the care of the Reverend Endicott Peabody at Groton, experiencing the usual prep school traumas. “Elliott is about to have an operation, Franklin, Jr., has a doubly broken nose and John has just had a cartilage taken out of his knee,” FDR wrote a friend in March 1929. “Eleanor is teaching school two and a half days a week in New York, and I am in one continuous, glorious fight with the Republican legislative leaders.”17

  Roosevelt’s work habits rarely varied. He had breakfast in bed about eight, during which he read the papers, conferred with Missy and Rosenman (and Howe when he was in town), handled his personal correspondence, and set the schedule for the day. At ten he left for the Capitol, where he worked through until five, taking lunch at his desk. Then home for a swim, followed by tea, frequently with friends and official visitors. During the White House years, with Prohibition repealed, teatime became the “children’s hour” and the president mixed martinis for his guests. Dinner was at seven-thirty and, unlike lunch, was seldom taken alone. After dinner, Franklin was wheeled into his study, where he continued to work until bedtime. Before turning out the light, he conferred again with Missy and Rosenman and read the evening papers.18

  An exception to the daily routine was on movie nights. FDR was addicted to motion pictures, but going to the theater was difficult for him. And so at least once a week an informal theater would be set up in a third-floor hallway and a new release would be shown. Bill and Caroline Phillips, old friends from Washington (Phillips later served as FDR’s ambassador to Italy), visited the Roosevelts and reported watching John and Lionel Barrymore in Arsène Lupin. “All the servants, black and white, seventeen in all, sat behind the house party and enjoyed the show with us,” wrote Caroline.19

  The mansion was altered to assist Roosevelt’s movements. In place of the greenhouse, a swimming pool was built for his use. An elevator was installed, and ramps were placed over unavoidable steps. FDR retained the services of Sergeant Gus Gennerich, a New York City policeman who had been detailed to protect him during the campaign. Gennerich had little formal education and was proud to be a New York cop. His affable manner made him a friend and companion for Roosevelt. So too Sergeant Earl Miller of the New York State Police, a strikingly handsome officer who was assigned to protect the governor. Gennerich and Miller were big, muscular men and provided solid support for FDR when he walked. They knew how to lift him out of cars and devised a technique for carrying him up long flights of stairs. The two men would each grasp an elbow and lift Roosevelt up the steps in a standing position. Those watching from a distance could well believe Franklin was climbing the stairs himself.20

  Roosevelt relished informality. He treated employees as friends, enjoyed shirtsleeve poker sessions with journalists, and insisted on calling people by their first names as soon as he met them.* As president he made a point of addressing royalty by their given names: the king and queen of England were “George” and “Elizabeth”; the crown princess of the Netherlands was “Juliana.” Yet they always called him “Mr. President,” and it was clear that Roosevelt was never one of the boys.21 There was an unspoken dignity, an impenetrable reserve that protected him against undue familiarity. Aside from relatives, old friends from college, and senior statesmen whom he had known—men like Josephus Daniels and Al Smith—Louis Howe was the only person to call him Franklin.

  For Eleanor, FDR’s election was a mixed blessing. When asked by reporters shortly afterward how she felt about her husband’s victory, she said she was not excited. “I don’t care. What difference can it make to me? If the rest of the ticket doesn’t get in, what does it matter?”22 ER’s petulant response reflected her unhappiness at Al Smith’s defeat. She had worked night and day for the past nine months on Smith’s campaign, and she hated to lose. It was not merely a personal loss but the defeat at the national level of the social programs she supported.

  Then too, she had not participated in FDR’s campaign. In retrospect, she wondered if she had really wanted Franklin to run. “I imagine I accepted his nomination and later his election as I had accepted most of the things that had happened in life thus far: one did whatever seemed necessary and adjusted one’s personal life to the developments in other people’s lives.”23

  Even more important was ER’s reluctance to forsake the public life she had staked out for herself. Eleanor had no desire to become a ceremonial first lady, relegated to serving in her husband’s shadow. She had grown accustomed to a different role: teacher, writer, and political activist in her own right. She was associated with an ongoing effort to build reproduction furniture at Val-Kill and was teaching full-time at Todhunter.*

  Eleanor and Franklin reached an implicit understanding: she would be the governor’s wife, preside over the executive mansion, and pursue her own agenda at the same time.24 “Mrs. Roosevelt Takes on Another Task,” bannered The New York Times Magazine in its lead article on December 2, 1928.

  A woman who teaches school, runs a factory, edits a journal, and is a member of a half dozen civic organizations would appear to have her hands full. Yet to these activities Mrs. Franklin D. Roosevelt will add one more when she takes up the task of the First Lady of Albany on Jan. 1.25

  Eleanor organized her teaching schedule at Todhunter for Monday, Tuesday, and a half day on Wednesday. She left Albany Sunday evening and returned late Wednesday afternoon. “I like to read on trains,” she told the Times. “Most of my reading is done on trains. It’s one place where reading is sure to be uninterrupted.” Eleanor said the work at Val-Kill would occupy her part-time and she would continue to serve on a few committees and boards of directors. Would housekeeping at the executive mansion be a formidable task? asked the Times. “I rarely devote more than fifteen minutes a day to it,” said Eleanor.26

  For Franklin and Eleanor this was the beginning of a remarkable partnership. FDR did not insist his wife drop anything she cared about to become first lady, and Eleanor undertook to support her husband’s public career in every way possible. They would have different priorities and different interests. They would often disagree. Their personal lives would be separate. But they shared a mutual respect that eventually resolved most differences.

  From his first day in office FDR operated as though he had been governor for many years. He said there had been so few changes in Albany since he had l
eft the State Senate in 1913 that it was like renewing an acquaintance with an old friend.27 Roosevelt knew instinctively how to handle the controls of government, an intuitive “feel” that could not be explained rationally. Like all true artists he made what he did look easy. Sam Rosenman was amazed that FDR never seemed to worry. “He would think a problem through very carefully. Having come to a decision, he would dismiss it from his mind as finished business. He never went back to it to worry about whether his decision was right.”28 Frances Perkins said, “Roosevelt was a walking American history book.” There were no isolated events for FDR. Everything that happened in politics, every crisis, every decision taken, was part of a larger American tapestry, part of an experiment in government still being worked out.29

  The state machinery Roosevelt inherited from Al Smith was in good working order. Rather than fix what was not broken, Franklin moved forward in new directions of his own, first in public power, agriculture, and conservation, and then, after the Depression started, in relief and social security.

  FDR’s concern for electric power dated from his service in the state senate and had continued without interruption. He often spoke of harnessing the high tides of Passamaquoddy Bay, near Campobello, for hydroelectric purposes, and he was an early advocate of dual-purpose flood control dams on the tributaries of major rivers: dams that could be used both to store water and to generate electricity. As Roosevelt saw it, cheaper electric power required greater generating capacity as well as more effective regulation of public utility companies. In March 1929 he asked the legislature for authority to construct a series of hydroelectric plants on the Saint Lawrence and to sell the power to private companies at cost. Roosevelt also sought tighter regulation of existing utilities and suggested that publicly generated power serve “as a yardstick with which to measure the cost of producing and transmitting electricity.”30 The “yardstick” metaphor would later become a staple of New Deal rhetoric.